UNIVSRSITY  Of 

CALIFORNIA 
tAN 


!ntaaii0ral  Cbxtati0n 

EDITED    BY 

WILLIAM  T.  HARRIS,  A.  M.,  LL.  D. 


VOLUME  XX. 


EDUCATION  SERIES 


ROUSSEAU'S  EMILE 

OR   TREATISE   ON   EDUCATION 


ABRIDGED,  TRANSLATED,  AND  ANNOTATED 
BY 

WILLIAM   H.    PAYNE,  PH.  D.,  LL.  D. 

CHANCELLOR    OF    THE    UNIVERSITY    OF    NASHVILLE 

AND   PRESIDENT   OF   THE    PEABODY   NORMAL   COLLEGE 

AUTHOR    OF    CHAPTERS    ON    SCHOOL    SUPERVISION 

OUTLINES    OF    EDUCATIONAL    DOCTRINE,    AND 
CONTRIBUTIONS    TO    THE    SCIENCE    OF   EDUCATION 

AND   TRANSLATOR    OF    COMPARYREJ's    HISTOIRE    DE    LA    PKPAOOGIE 
COURS    UE    PEDAGOQIK,    AND    LEC.OXS    ELEMENTAIRE3    1>K    PBYCHOLOGIB 


NEW   YORK    AND    LONDON 

D.  APPLETON   AND   COMPANY 
1918 


COPYRIGHT,  1892, 
BY  D.   APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


ELECTROTYPED  AND  PRINTED 
AT  THE  APPLETON  PRESS.  U.  S  A. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

EDITOR'S  PREFACE .  vii 

INTRODUCTION  BY  TRANSLATOR  .        .        .        .        .        .        .  xvii 

AUTHOR'S  PREFACE xli 

BOOK  FIRST — EMILE'S  INFANCY 1 

BOOK  SECOND — EMILE  FROM  FIVE  TO  TWELVE  ....  41 

BOOK  THIRD — EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN     .        .        .  181 

BOOK  FOURTH — EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY  .        .        .  192 

BOOK  FIFTH — THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN        ....  259 

APPENDIX — THE  FRENCH  ESTIMATE  OF  ROUSSEAU  .        .        .  309 

ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS    .        .        .        ..       .        .  321 

(v) 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


THE  significance  of  Kousseau  in  education  as  well  as 
in  politics  must  be  found  in  his  revolutionary  attitude 
toward  established  institutions.  Some  of  his  biographers 
relate  the  story  that  when  the  Academy  of  Dijon,  in  1749, 
offered  a  prize  for  an  essay  on  the  question  whether  the 
progress  of  the  arts  and  sciences  has  tended  to  the  puri- 
fication of  morals  and  manners,  he  followed  the  sugges- 
tion of  Diderot,  who  reminded  him  of  the  greater  noto- 
riety which  he  could  gain  by  advocating  the  negative 
side.  He  accordingly  wrote  an  essay  denouncing  civil- 
ized life  in  such  eloquent  terms  that  he  became  at  once 
famous  as  a  censor  of  civilization.  He  found  this  line 
of  authorship  so  flattering  to  his  conceit  and  so  well 
fitted  to  his  mode  of  life,  his  habits  of  thought,  and  lit- 
erary style,  that  he  adopted  it  as  a  career,  and  attacked 
one  after  the  other  the  existing  foundations  of  civilization. 
The  essay  just  named  was  published  in  1750 ;  that  on 
the  origin  of  inequality  among  men,  in  which  he  laid  the 
axe  to  the  root  of  the  social  system  of  Europe,  in  1752 ; 
in  1762  he  completed  his  raid  against  the  political  basis  of 
government  by  his  work  on  the  social  contract ;  his  Nou- 
velle  Heloi'se  appeared  in  1760,  sapping  the  ethics  of  the 
family  relation ;  his  Emile,  in  1762,  uproots  whatever  is 
traditional  in  education  and  religion.  Thus  he  attacks 


the  four  cardinal  institutions  of  civilization — the  family, 
civil  society,  the  state,  and  the  Church — together  with  the 
school,  which  is  the  means  of  conserving  them. 

There  have  been  many  reformers,  but  none  more  radi- 
cal than  Rousseau ;  for  he  advocates  the  overthrow  of 
civilization  and  the  return  to  a  state  of  nature. 

Nature  is  a  word  of  many  meanings.  It  may  signify 
human  nature  as  revealed  in  the  institutions  which  man 
has  founded.  The  nature  of  bees  and  ants  appears  in 
the  social  organizations  that  they  form  and  in  the  prod- 
ucts of  their  united  industry.  So,  too,  human  nature 
is  revealed  in  the  social  unities  of  civilized  life  and 
in  the  works  erected  to  continue  them  and  secure 
them. 

But  the  word  nature  may  signify  physical  nature  as 
opposed  to  man — it  may  stand  for  matter  and  brute  force  ; 
it  may  mean  the  untamed  animal  appetites  that  hold 
sway  in  human  beings  when  not  guided  by  moral  or  re- 
ligious principles. 

The  opposite  of  civilization  is  savagery,  and  Voltaire 
wittily  exposed  the  fallacy  of  the  revolutionary  appeal  to 
Nature  when  he  wrote  to  Eousseau  acknowledging  the 
gift  of  his  essay  on  the  origin  of  inequality  among 
men :  "  I  have  received  your  new  book  against  the  hu- 
man race,  and  I  thank  you  for  it.  No  one  could  paint 
in  stronger  colors  the  horrors  of  human  society  from 
which  our  ignorance  and  weakness  promise  themselves 
so  many  delights.  Never  has  any  one  employed  so  much 
genius  to  make  us  into  beasts.  When  one  reads  your 
book  he  is  seized  at  once  with  a  desire  to  go  down  on  all- 
fours." 

The  truth  is,  that  this  appeal  to  Nature  is  always  a 
piece  of  jugglery.  A  high-sounding  word  is  used  in  two 
very  different  senses,  and,  as  Macbetli  says,  the  word  of 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  IX 

promise  is  kept  to  our  ear  but  broken  to  our  hope.*  This 
juggling  with  ambiguous  words  lends  itself  most  readily 
to  a  purely  literary  style  wielded  by  a  man  unscrupulous 
of  truth  and  ambitious  of  producing  an  effect  on  his 
audience.  This  is  the  besetting  sin  in  the  great  orators 
of  reform ;  they  are  mostly  close  imitators  of  Rousseau. 

Spurzheim,  the  phrenologist,  in  his  tractate  on  The 
Natural  Laws  of  Man,  takes  the  word  in  an  ideal  sense 
when  he  says :  "  Natural  laws  are  necessarily  conformable 
to  reason  ;  they  produce  certain  never- varying  effects ; 
whatever  is  undertaken  in  conformity  with  their  decrees 
prospers,  and  penalty  is  always  in  proportion  to  their  in- 
fringement. .  .  .  Natural  law  is  submitted  to  the  free 
scrutiny  of  all,  and  is  appreciated  in  great  part  by  means 
of  reason.  ...  It  is  not  the  arbitrary  dictum  of  self- 
elected  and  presumed  interpreters  of  a  revelation.  .  .  . 
Natural  laws  are  inherent  in  beings  and  are  often  plainly 
to  be  seen ;  always  demonstrable,  universal,  invariable,  and 
harmonious." 

It  is  obvious  that  the  appeal  to  Nature  in  this  case  is 
prompted  by  a  desire  to  escape  from  the  control  of  author- 
ity. If  my  individual  intellect  can  discover  the  laws  of 
Nature,  and  these  laws  are  the  highest  truth,  then  I  am 
right  in  emancipating  myself  from  "  self -elected  and  pre- 
sumed interpreters  of  a  revelation."  I  may  take  on  my- 
self a  free  and  independent  attitude,  and  find  for  myself 
the  rules  of  conduct  by  examining  the  structure  of  the 
world. 

The  impulse  to  escape  from  the  bonds  of  external 


*  "  And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense ; 
That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  <jur  ear, 
And  break  it  to  our  hope." — MACBETH,  Act  V,  Scene  7. 


x  EMILE. 

arbitrary  authority  by  attaining  scientific  knowledge  is 
reasonable  and  good,  and  furnishes  a  justification  of  this 
revolutionary  movement.  But  its  watchword,  "  Return  to 
Nature,"  involves  the  danger  of  paltering  in  a  double  sense. 
Instead  of  finding  the  laws  of  human  nature,  it  may  find 
only  the  laws  of  animal  nature,  or,  worse  still,  the  laws  of 
matter  and  brute  force. 

The  nature  or  principle  of  matter  is  exclusion ;  each 
body  excludes  all  others  and  is  impenetrable.  Spiritual 
being  is  inclusive,  and  each  soul  lives  its  true  life  only  in 
communion  with  others ;  each  avails  itself  of  the  experi- 
ence of  all  others ;  each  lives  the  life  of  all.  The  truth 
and  goodness  discovered  by  another  can  be  made  mine  by 
my  self-active  participation  in  it.  Spiritual  participation 
does  not  divide  and  diminish,  but  increases  rather.  My 
truth  grows  in  me  when  I  impart  it  to  others.  Material 
participation  diminishes ;  the  barrel  of  meal  or  the  cruse 
of  oil  if  consumed  by  one  can  not  be  consumed  by  another. 
This  confusion  between  spiritual  and  material  laws  which 
we  find  in  the  school  of  writers  that  demand  freedom 
from  external  authority,  explains  the  mixture  of  good  and 
bad,  wise  and  unwise  prescriptions  which  we  find  side  by 
side  in  their  books.  When  Nature  as  a  spiritual  principle 
is  followed  for  a  while  in  Rousseau's  Emile,  there  is  whole- 
some truth;  when  he  takes  Nature  as  the  principle  of 
matter  and  force,  the  result  is  paradox  and  error. 

Rousseau's  first  sentence  gives  his  argument — Virgil 
begins  his  ^Eneid  with  "  arms  and  the  man,"  and  Homer's 
Iliad  with  "  Achilles's  wrath  "  :  "  Everything  is  good  as  it 
comes  from  the  hands  of  the  Author  of  Nature ;  but  every- 
thing degenerates  in  the  hands  of  man."  But  is  man  as 
he  comes  from  Nature  good  ?  No,  says  Rousseau.  "  We 
are  born  weak — we  have  need  of  strength ;  we  are  born 
destitute  of  everything — we  have  need  of  assistance ;  we 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE.  XJ 

are  born  stupid — we  have  need  of  judgment."  How 
can  that  be  good  which  lacks  everything  necessary  for  its 
perfection  ?  It  is  not  good,  but  needs  education  in  order 
to  become  good.  This,  too,  Rousseau  admits,  and  at  once 
sets  up  the  claim  for  three  sorts  of  education — from 
nature,  from  men,  and  from  things.  Education  from 
things  is  what  we  learn  from  personal  experience  of 
objects ;  education  from  nature  is  "  the  internal  develop- 
ment of  our  faculties  and  organs" — that  is  to  say,  our 
vital  growth ;  education  from  men  is  the  use  we  make  of 
our  natural  growth,  and  this,  he  says,  "  is  the  only  educa- 
tion of  which  we  are  truly  masters."  Nature  gives  us  the 
raw  material  to  be  educated — it  gives  us  bodily  growth 
and  organs.  But  this  is  only  man  as  an  animal.  Man 
even  as  a  savage  is  above  this,  for  he  has  a  tribal  institu- 
tion, a  language,  and  an  elaborate  system  of  conventional 
usages  which  he  teaches  to  his  children. 

When  Rousseau  attempts  to  tell  us  further  what  he 
means  by  Nature,  he  speaks  of  "  primitive  dispositions,  in- 
cluding our  sensations  and  feelings  of  pleasure  and  pain, 
together  with  the  judgments  founded  on  these ;  .  .  .  these 
dispositions  are  what  I  call  our  nature."  It  would  follow 
from  this  that  education  by  nature  is  the  reaction  upon 
ourselves  of  the  deeds  that  flow  from  our  disposition. 
Man's  will-power  is  the  agent  of  his  education.  He  learns 
by  doing.  Yes,  he  grows  by  doing ;  for  the  exercise  of 
his  faculties  educatively  depends  on  his  will-power.  The 
will  permits  and  causes  exercise,  or  it  inhibits  exercise ; 
it  retards  the  growth  of  one  faculty  while  it  promotes 
growth  in  another. 

According  to  this,  Rousseau  ought  to  have  seen  that 
nearly  all  the  education  which  he  describes  as  the  result 
of  nature  is  only  education  from  men ;  for  this  includes 
all  action  of  the  will  to  control  and  direct  nature.  Man 


xii  EMILE. 

in  so  far  as  he  is  a  spiritual  being  is  self-determined,  and 
it  is  this  higher  nature  which  is  properly  called  human 
nature. 

Human  nature  does  not  "  come  from  the  hand  of  the 
Author  of  Nature"  directly  like  the  sun  and  stars,  nor 
even  like  plants  and  animals ;  for  human  nature  is  di- 
rectly the  product  of  man's  will,  strange  as  it  always 
seems  to  us  when  we  first  realize  this  sublime  truth.  For 
.human  nature  is  the  result  of  the  realization  of  moral 
ideals,  and  these  are  realized  only  by  the  virtuous  action 
of  the  will.  Before  moral  ideals  and  without  them  we 
have  only  the  natural  man  (or  perhaps  only  the  anthro- 
poid ape). 

Nature,  as  material  existence  in  time  and  space,  is  the 
polar  opposite  of  man  as  spirit.  Man,  as  merely  natural, 
finds  himself  to  be  his  own  worst  foe.  "  By  nature  he  is 
totally  depraved  " — that  is,  he  is  governed  by  his  environ- 
ment of  external  things  and  internal  impulses,  just  like 
the  lower  orders  of  being.  The  greedy  swine  fight  for  the 
possession  of  the  acorn  that  drops  in  their  midst.  Vio- 
lence reigns  where  there  is  no  self-determination ;  it 
reigns  still  where  the  principle  of  exclusion  and  selfish- 
ness is  adopted  among  men. 

The  state  of  human  nature  exists  as  the  product  of 
culture.  All  things  in  time  and  space  exist  for  man  on 
condition  that  he  have  intelligence  and  skill  to  use  them. 
He  conquers  Nature  by  two  kinds  of  combinations — prac- 
tical and  theoretical — both  being  forms  of  social  combina- 
tion. All  arts  and  industries,  all  manufactures  and  com- 
merce, all  division  of  labor,  and  all  civil  order,  are  the 
result  of  practical  combination.  All  knowledge  and  sci- 
ence give  us  power  over  things  and  forces;  all  moral, 
religious,  and  aesthetic  ideals  belong  to  the  theoretical 
combination.  They  come  from  the  participation  of  the 


EDITORS  PREFACE.  xill 

individual  in  the  experience  and  reason  of  his  fellow- 
men. 

The  mere  animal  does  not  progress  in  experience  ex- 
cept in  the  slow  vital  process  of  transmission  by  inherit- 
ance. But  the  human  being  can  amass  experience  and 
communicate  it  to  others  by  language  after  he  has  gener- 
alized it.  Each  can  help  all,  and  all  each.  Each  con- 
tributes his  mite  to  society,  giving  to  all  the  small  out- 
come of  his  individual  experience;  each  receives  from 
society  the  immeasurable  gift  of  the  aggregate  experience 
of  all  mankind  in  all  ages.  Thus,  in  the  case  of  the  ani- 
mal, the  species  and  individual  are  at  two  extremes ;  in 
the  case  of  man  these  extremes  approach,  and  the  indi- 
vidual becomes  more  and  more  able  to  sum  up  in  himself 
the  net  results  of  the  experience  and  thought  of  the  entire 
race. 

It  is  this  revelation  of  human  nature  in  social  combi- 
nation which  Eousseau  fails  to  see,  and,  failing  in  this,  he 
misses  the  chief  aim  of  education.  "  The  natural  man," 
says  he,  "is  complete  in  himself;  he  is  the  numerical 
unit,  the  absolute  whole,  who  is  related  only  to  himself  or 
to  his  fellow-man.  Civilized  man  is  but  the  fractional 
unit  that  is  dependent  on  its  denominator,  and  whose 
value  consists  in  its  relation  to  the  whole,  which  is  the 
social  organization.  Good  social  institutions  are  those 
which  are  best  able  to  make  man  unnatural,  and  to  take 
from  him  his  absolute  existence  in  order  to  give  him  one 
which  is  relative." 

He  had  forgotten  that  he  wrote  a  moment  before,  "  We 
are  born  weak,  and  stupid,  and  destitute  of  everything"; 
that  we  are,  as  products  of  Nature,  the  pitifullest  fractions 
until  we  borrow  denominators  from  education  by  our  fel- 
low-men, who  teach  us  the  arts  by  which  we  can  conquer 
Nature  and  obtain  clothing,  shelter,  and  daily  food. 


Xiv  EMILE. 

Since  Rousseau's  time  natural  science  has  turned 
through  half  a  circle.  In  D'Holbach's  System  of  Nature, 
matter  and  force,  by  mere  mechanical  action,  produce 
plants,  animals,  and  men.  Under  the  leadership  of  Dar- 
win, it  is  no  longer  mechanical  action  of  the  environment, 
but  internal  reaction  against  environment,  that  produces 
development.  New  and  higher  species  are  developed 
through  the  struggle  for  existence.  Each  being  strives 
not  only  to  adjust  itself  to  its  environment,  but  also  to 
modify  its  environment  so  as  to  promote  its  own  pur- 
poses. 

Here  we  have  the  opposite  principle,  or  that  of  "  strive," 
instead  of  Rousseau's  "  let  alone."  The  evolutionist  of  to- 
day regards  human  progress  as  the  result  of  innumerable 
strivings — in  short,  as  the  result  of  what  Rousseau  calls 
the  education  of  man  as  opposed  to  the  education  of  na- 
ture and  things.  If  man  had  let  himself  alone,  he  would 
have  remained  the  monkey,  that  he  was.  Not  only  this, 
but  if  the  monkey  had  let  himself  alone  he  would  have 
remained  a  lemur,  or  a  bat,  or  a  bear,  or  some  other  creat- 
ure that  now  offers  only  a  faint  suggestion  of  what  the 
ape  has  become  by  his  struggle  to  exist. 

The  invention  that  makes  man  successful  in  the  strug- 
gle for  existence  is  participation  of  the  fractional  indi- 
vidual in  the  integer  or  total  which  he  creates  in  the  form 
of  institutions — family,  society,  and  the  state ;  for  it  is 
the  savage  man  who  is  the  fraction.  The  civilized  man  is 
made  a  whole  by  society,  which  offers  him  his  share  of  the 
products  of  all  ages  and  all  climes  as  an  equivalent  for  his 
daily  labor. 

Robinson  Crusoe  on  a  desert  island  is  the  type  of  man 
as  an  isolated  individual.  He  has  to  do  all  for  himself, 
and  he  does  nothing  well.  By  division  of  labor  in  civil- 
ized society  each  one  does  some  one  thing  rapidly  and 


EDITOKS  PREFACE.  XV 

well,  and  partakes  by  exchange  in  what  others  produce 
rapidly,  cheaply,  and  well. 

Rousseau  was  the  prophet  of  the  French  Revolution, 
whose  center  was  in  Paris  and  its  circumference  in  all  the 
cities  of  Europe ;  especially  in  those  national  capitals 
which  had  imitated  the  splendors  of  Versailles  and  with- 
drawn their  nobility  from  useful  supervision  and  admin- 
istration of  affairs  on  their  own  estates,  causing  them  to 
attend  royal  court  and  consume  in  riotous  living  the  sub- 
stance produced  by  their  down-trodden  peasantry. 

Rousseau  is  still  a  prophet  for  the  youth  who  has  be- 
gun to  question  external  authority.  He  impels  to  free 
thinking,  but  does  not  get  further  than  to  suggest  para- 
doxes. Rousseau  voices  the  problem  of  Europe  in  the 
eighteenth  century ;  it  is  Goethe  alone  who  solves  it,  and 
shows  the  true  relation  of  the  individual  to  the  social 
whole.  Since  roan  ascends  above  the  animal  by  his  ability 
to  profit  by  the  experience  and  labor  of  all  his  fellow-men, 
he  can  not  choose  but  live  in  a  social  whole  and  subordi- 
nate himself  to  authority.  But  the  authority  must  be 
organized  not  for  itself  as  a  final  end,  but  solely  for  the 
increasing  self-direction  of  the  individual.  Each  submits 
to  external  authority  because  it  is  his  own  general  human 
nature  governing  himself  as  an  individual.  Each  learns 
the  lessons  of  morality  and  religion  because  they  contain 
the  wisdom  of  the  race ;  but  he  is  bound  to  change  the 
lessons  out  of  the  form  of  external  authority  into  internal 
conviction  through  verification  and  insight. 

But  Rousseau  builded  better  than  he  knew.  Dr. 
Payne,  the  translator  of  this  volume,  has  well  shown  the 
great  positive  impulse  that  Emile  gave  to  education.  It 
has  made  educators  recognize  the  sacredness  of  childhood. 
Its  author  is  the  great  pioneer  in  the  work  of  studying 
human  character  as  it  develops  in  children. 

a 


XVJ  HlMILE. 

Without  a  study  of  the  Emile  one  can  not  explain 
Pestalozzi,  Basedow,  Froebel,  or  any  of  the  great  leaders 
in  education  that  belong  to  the  present  century. 

W.  T.  HARRIS. 

WASHINGTON,  D.  C.,  November,  1892. 


INTRODUCTION  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


AN  educational  classic  might  be  defined  as  an  epoch- 
making  book  in  the  history  of  education — a  book  which 
has  served  as  a  starting-point  for  a  new  advance  into  this 
field  of  investigation,  and  to  which  the  thoughts  of  men 
are  ever  returning  for  fresh  inspiration  and  direction.  As 
thus  defined,  an  educational  classic  is  not  necessarily  the 
book  which  in  its  period  contains  the  greatest  amount  of 
absolute  truth,  but  the  book  which  has  been  the  greatest 
stimulus  to  educational  thought,  and  which  has  longest 
held  a  high  place  in  the  esteem  of  thoughtful  men.  A 
seductive  style  may  give  a  long  currency  to  educational 
sophisms  and  paradoxes,  and  the  very  perversity  of  a  book 
may  challenge  to  better  thinking,  though  any  literary  work 
which  has  received  the  long  sanction  of  the  wise  and  good 
is  likely  to  have  a  large  measure  of  truth  in  it.  Save  as 
an  interesting  curiosity,  men  will  finally  abandon  a  book 
which  experience  has  shown  to  be  pervaded  with  actual 
error. 

It  is  not  probable  that  any  two  persons  equally  com- 
petent would  entirely  agree  on  a  list  of  the  great  worthies 
among  educational  writers,  but  I  venture  to  enumerate  the 
following  as  the  GREATER  EDUCATIONAL  CLASSICS  of  the 
world:  Plato's  Republic,  Aristotle's  Politics,  Plutarch's 
2 


xviii  EMILE. 

Morals,  Quintilian's  Institutes,  the  Didactica  Magna  of 
Comenius,  Richter's  Levana,  Pestaiozzi's  How  Gertrude 
teaches  her  Children,  Froebel's  Education  of  Man,  Ro- 
senkranz's  Philosophy  of  Education,  Rabelais's  Gargantua, 
Montaigne's  Essays,  Eousseau's  Emile,  Mulcaster's  Posi- 
tions, Ascham's  Schoolmaster,  Locke's  Thoughts,  Spencer's 
Education.  Of  this  list  of  educational  classics,  the  three 
books  that  best  deserve  this  pre-eminence  are  Plato's  Re- 
public, Rousseau's  Emile,  and  Spencer's  Education ;  and 
if  a  further  reduction  were  to  be  made,  I  would  designate 
Rousseau's  Emile  as  the  great  educational  classic  of  the 
world.  This,  of  course,  is  largely  a  matter  of  opinion, 
depending  in  part  on  our  conception  of  what  constitutes  a 
great  classic,  and  then  on  our  estimate  of  the  intrinsic 
worth  and  actual  influence  of  the  various  books  which 
have  affected  the  education  of  the  world.  When  we  con- 
sider the  fact  that  the  idea  of  universal  education  has 
prevailed  in  civilized  countries  for  only  about  one  hundred 
years;  that  the  great  leader  in  the  social  and  political 
reform  which  characterizes  this  period  was  Rousseau  ;  that 
all  the  great  writers  on  education  since  Rousseau's  time, 
irrespective  of  country — Madame  Necker  in  France,  Pesta- 
lozzi  and  Froebel  in  Germany,  Spencer  in  England,  and 
Horace  Mann  in  America — have  caught  their  inspira- 
tion from  the  Emile ;  and  that  the  ideas  which  dominate 
in  the  education  of  the  moment — sense-perception,  self- 
instruction,  mild  discipline,  the  sacredness  of  childhood, 
care  of  health,  etc. — are  easily  traceable  to  the  pages  of 
Rousseau ;  we  are  justified  in  saying  of  the  Emile  what 
Rousseau  himself  said  of  the  Republic,  "  C'est  le  plus  beau 
traite  d1  education  qu'on  ajamaisfait." 

Just  as  the  Republic  is  in  its  main  intent  a  treatise  on 
political  philosophy,  and  only  incidentally,  though  neces- 
sarily, a  treatise  on  education,  so  the  educational  doctrines 


INTRODUCTION   BY  THE  TRANSLATOR.  XLX 

contained  in  the  Emile  are  incidental  to  his  political  and 
social  theory ;  his  reconstruction  of  society  and  govern- 
ment required  men  and  woman  radically  different  from 
those  of  the  existing  type,  and  for  their  creation  there 
was  required  an  education  radically  different  from  the 
education  of  the  times.  The  parent  works  are  the  Dis- 
cours  sur  1'Inegalite  and  the  Contrat  Social.  In  these 
works  Rousseau's  theory  is  that  man  is  naturally  good, 
but  has  been  depraved  by  society,  and  that  the  only  means 
of  reform  is  to  return  to  nature.  The  Emile  is  the 
development  of  this  theory,  and  is  the  most  complete 
monument  of  Rousseau's  philosophy.*  The  opening 
sentence  furnishes  the  key  to  this  philosophy,  political, 
social,  and  educational :  "  Tout  est  bien,  sortant  des  mains 
de  1'auteur  des  choses ;  tout  degenere  entre  les  mains 
de  rhomme."  This  fiction  of  Nature  as  the  benignant,  wise, 
and  infallible  patron  and  guide  of  the  human  race  was  not 
a  new  thing  in  philosophy,  but  Rousseau  gave  it  such  an 
air  of  respectability,  and  surrounded  it  with  such  a  halo 
of  sentiment,  that  it  has  almost  run  rampant  in  the  pages 
of  Rousseau's  disciples. 

That  such  a  man  as  Rousseau  should  have  been  the 
prophet,  if  not  the  author,  of  the  French  revolution,  and 
that  his  Emile  should  have  revolutionized  modern  educa- 
tion, is  certainly  one  of  the  most  curious  phenomena  of 
history,  but  a  phenomenon  which  can  be  explained,  at  least 
in  part,  by  the  condition  of  French  society,  goaded  to  the 
verge  of  revolution  by  secular  abuses  of  royal  prerogative ; 
by  the  vehemence  of  his  denunciations  of  existing  wrongs ; 
by  his  deft  and  matchless  appeals  to  sentiment,  emotion, 
and  passion ;  and  to  a  style  of  composition  which  is  the 

*  G.  Vapereau,  in  J.  J.  Rousseau  juge  par  les  Fran^ais  d'au- 
jeurd'hui,  p.  56. 


xx  EMILE. 

perfection  of  graceful  and  seductive  rhetoric.  The  ideas 
which  he  expresses  are  neither  new  nor  remarkable — they 
had  been  heard  hundreds  of  times  before — but  he  had 
the  skill  to  put  back  of  these  ideas  such  intensity  of 
motive  power  that  they  became  projectiles  of  irresistible 
force.  Despite  his  obvious  and  lamentable  imperfection 
in  other  respects,  Rousseau  was  an  ardent  patriot,  a  devot- 
ed advocate  of  the  rights  of  the  people,  and  had  a  heart 
overflowing  with  sympathy  and  affection  for  the  helpless 
and  the  friendless.  His  intense  emotional  nature  was  at 
once  his  weakness  and  his  strength ;  it  made  it  difficult 
for  him  to  see  men  and  ideas  in  their  actual  relations,  for 
intense  feeling  blunts  intellectual  discernment;  but  it 
made  him  the  impetuous  and  resistless  champion  of  the 
people  as  against  the  usurpations  of  prerogative  and 
custom. 

As  the  world  goes,  those  abrupt  changes  in  national 
and  social  life  known  as  reforms  seem  inevitable.  Like 
eruptions  on  the  surface  of  the  body,  they  are  at  once  the 
proofs  of  internal  disorder  and  the  prophecies  of  returning 
health.  In  a  normal  state  of  the  bodily  functions  the 
processes  of  waste  and  repair  produce  needed  readjust- 
ments from  moment  to  moment,  and  leave  no  occasion  for 
remedial  processes  of  the  spasmodic  or  convulsive  type,  and 
much  less  for  heroic  treatment  by  cautery  and  knife ;  and 
it  is  conceivable  that  in  the  body  politic  there  might  be 
such  adaptation  and  readjustment  from  moment  to  mo- 
ment that  growth  and  progress  might  be  uninterrupted, 
and  never  require  the  intervention  of  the  reformer.  This 
is  the  ideal  mode  of  progress,  but  the  actual  or  historical 
mode  is  very  different.  In  government  there  has  always 
been  a  tendency  to  exalt  office  over  function,  and  at  inter- 
vals in  human  history  the  course  of  popular  liberty  has 
been  obstructed  till  revolution  has  cut  through  a  way  for 


INTRODUCTION   BY   THE   TRANSLATOR.  XXJ 

a  farther  advance.  In  the  history  of  human  thought  there 
have  been  periods  when  formula  and  sign  have  usurped 
the  place  of  thought  and  thing,  and  then  some  analyst, 
witn  his  dialectics,  cuts  clear  through  to  the  substance  of 
trJngs,  and  the  world  has  a  reform  in  philosophy.  In 
religion  the  tendency  has  always  been  immanent  to  exalt 
symbol  over  substance,  and  to  degrade  worship  into  soul- 
less formalism ;  but  the  soul's  needs  are  so  vital  and  so 
pressing  that  a  reascent  toward  truth  can  not  long  be 
delayed,  and  in  response  to  this  need  a  Martin  Luther  or 
a  George  Fox  appears,  and  then  follows  what  we  call  a 
reform  in  religion.  Similarly  in  education,  there  have  been 
recurring  periods  when  some  partial  thought  has  secured 
such  domination  that  wholesome  training  has  become 
impossible,  till  a  reformer  appears  who  restores  the  lost 
equilibrium,  and  then  very  likely  he  inaugurates  a  move- 
ment which  leads  up  to  another  catastrophe.  Usually 
these  reforms  have  consisted  in  bringing  about  some 
readjustment  between  words  and  things,  or  between 
thoughts  and  things.  At  times  education  becomes  almost 
wholly  "  livresque,"  devoted  to  the  study  of  books  and 
words  rather  than  of  things,  and  at  others  it  becomes 
mainly  literary  or  humanistic,  to  the  neglect  of  the  study 
of  matter.  The  records  of  human  thought,  sentiment,  and 
achievement  form  one  term  of  the  contrast,  while  matter 
and  its  phenomena,  under  the  term  Nature,  constitute  the 
other.  Ever  since  education  began  to  have  a  history 
human  thought  has  oscillated  with  almost  rhythmical 
movement  from  one  of  these  poles  to  the  other,  but  with 
a  general  tendency  toward  the  study  of  letters ;  and  so  it 
has  usually  happened  that  educational  reform  has  invited 
a  return  to  Nature,  and  has  sounded  a  warning  against 
books  and  words. 

Rousseau  has  all  the  marks  of  a  reformer  of  the  his« 


XXI 1 


EMILE. 


torical  type.  He  is  animated  by  intense  feeling;  his 
nature  is  emotional  rather  than  intellectual,  and  seen 
through  the  haze  of  his  warm  imagination,  things  lose 
their  normal  proportions  and  relations  and  become  distort- 
ed and  vague.  The  political,  social,  and  religious  aspect  of 
things  in  France  was  doubtless  bad  enough  in  his  day,  but 
Rousseau  works  himself  up  into  the  belief  that  nothing 
short  of  a  revolution  will  meet  the  requirements  of  the 
case ;  things  have  become  so  bad  that  they  are  not  worth 
saving ;  they  should  be  destroyed,  in  order  to  make  room 
for  something  better ;  and  so  he  breaks  entirely  and  ab- 
ruptly with  the  past,  and  sets  his  face  squarely  toward  the 
state  of  nature  and  that  condition  of  primitive  innocence 
and  bliss  which  had  been  destroyed  by  the  pernicious  acts 
of  man.  And  Rousseau  had  in  full  measure  another 
characteristic  of  the  reformer — he  was  tender-hearted  and 
humane,  and  his  foremost  motive  was  the  happiness  and 
good  of  the  human  race.  I  believe  this  is  the  one  constant 
virtue  that  runs  through  his  entire  career.  In  addition  to 
these  qualities,  he  was  liberally  endowed  with  another 
which  distinguishes  him  from  all  other  reformers — he  was 
a  genius  in  literary  art,  and  could  clothe  with  matchless 
grace  and  eloquence  whatever  flowed  from  his  voice  and 
pen.  The  words  of  a  mere  thinker  are  often  lifeless,  and 
as  soon  as  uttered  fall  powerless  to  the  ground  ;  but  Rous- 
seau's were  winged  words,  that  are  still  making  the  circuit 
of  the  world,  and  wherever  they  go  they  touch  the  human 
heart  and  so  produce  an  effect  that  is  perennial. 

Rousseau's  dominating  passion  was  his  love  of  solitude, 
or,  as  the  phrase  goes,  his  love  of  Nature.  He  chafed 
under  the  restraints  of  society,  and  was  truly  himself  and 
at  his  best  only  in  the  seclusion  of  some  remote  valley  or 
forest,  where  he  could  repose  under  the  shadows  of  great 
trees,  hear  the  song  of  the  nightingale,  and  wander  at 


INTRODUCTION  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 

will  in  solitary  places  without  fear  of  contact  with  man 
and  human  institutions.  To  escape  from  the  din  and 
turmoil  of  Paris  into  the  peaceful  solitude  of  Montmo- 
rency  was  to  gain  an  entrance  into  an  earthly  paradise. 
Probably  most  men  at  times  feel  this  instinct  to  revert  to 
a  state  of  nature,  but  in  Rousseau  this  instinct  was  a 
ruling  passion.  In  his  early  life  this  instinct  induced  a 
sort  of  vagabondage  which  led  to  long  foot- journeys  into 
Italy ;  and  in  later  life  it  found  satisfaction  in  the  Her- 
mitage at  Montmorency,  and  finally  at  Ermenonville. 
The  ideal  life  was  that  of  a  solitary,  and  the  ideal  man 
was  a  savage  in  the  unmolested  freedom  of  the  wilderness, 
untainted  by  the  leaven  of  civilization.  To  a  man  of 
Rousseau's  temperament  the  reading  of  Robinson  Crusoe 
must  have  been  a  decisive  event,  and  this  book  may  proper- 
ly be  held  accountable  for  the  general  spirit  that  is  discern- 
ible throughout  his  writings,  and  particularly  in  the  Emile. 

There  are  but  few  books  of  a  philosophical  character  so 
thoroughly  autobiographical  as  the  Emile,  and  there  is  no 
other  philosophy  that  is  so  colored  and  modeled  by  the 
personality  of  its  author.  The  Confessions  is  a  sort  of 
running  commentary  on  the  Emile.  Rousseau  hated  so- 
ciety, despised  doctors,  preferred  reverie  to  books,  found 
his  happiest  inspiration  in  trees  and  brooks,  and  birds  and 
mountains,  and  his  natural  deism  found  delight  in  con- 
templating the  grander  aspects  of  Xature — dawn,  sunrise, 
storm,  thunder-peal,  darkling  forest,  cloudless  night ;  and 
so  Emile,  his  illustrative  pupil,  is  to  share  all  these  pre- 
possessions, and  be  led  in  the  way  of  all  such  inspiration 
and  influence. 

The  general  plan  of  the  Emile  exhibits  Rousseau's 
skill  in  literary  art.  Instead  of  writing  a  formal  treatise 
on  education  in  didactic  style,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
day,  he  gives  us  in  moving  pictures  a  sort  of  panorama  of 


XXIV 


fiMILE, 


a  human  life  from  very  infancy  up  to  maturity,  passing 
through  the  various  stages  of  an  education  according  to 
Nature.  The  iWile  might  be  called  an  educational 
romance,  after  the  style  of  the  Cyropaedia  or  of  the 
Gargantua,  and  its  form  might  have  been  suggested  by 
these  works,  or  quite  possibly  by  that  incomparable  political 
romance,  the  Eepublic.  As  Tom  Brown  at  Eugby  gives 
us  a  vivid  idea  of  a  boy's  life  at  an  English  public  school, 
so  the  history  of  Emile's  imaginary  career  as  the  pupil 
and  companion  of  Eousseau  for  twenty  years  gives  us  a 
detailed  account,  in  the  concrete,  of  the  principles  and 
methods  of  a  new  system  of  education. 

There  have  been  but  few  historical  personages  so  diffi- 
cult to  comprehend  as  Eousseau.  His  life  is  full  of  con- 
tradictions and  surprises.  He  had  his  evil  genius  and  his 
good  angels.  In  aspiration  he  could  be  almost  angelic, 
while  in  fact  and  act  he  sometimes  descended  to  poltroon- 
ery, and  almost  to  infamy.  In  forming  a  judgment  of  him 
as  a  man,  it  is  easy  to  take  a  partial  view,  and  condemn  or 
praise  without  stint ;  but  it  is  a  very  hard  thing  to  form 
of  him  a  perfectly  just  and  equitable  judgment ;  just  as  in 
general  it  is  easier  to  be  an  impassioned  advocate  than  an 
impartial  judge.  It  is  the  spirit  of  modern  historical 
criticism  to  read  the  story  of  a  human  life  with  suspended 
judgment,  and  in  the  making  up  of  a  final  verdict  to  take 
an  account  of  environment,  and  in  the  award  of  commen- 
dation and  censure  to  exercise  the  spirit  of  judicial  fair- 
ness. The  features  of  Eousseau 's  career  that  first  attract 
the  attention  very  naturally  alienate  our  good-will,  and 
there  are  many  indisputable  facts  that  admit  of  no  just 
defense ;  but  a  closer  and  more  discerning  scrutiny  will 
give  rise  to  a  sympathetic  and  appreciative  spirit,  and  will 
discover  much  that  is  worthy  of  hearty  approval  and 
warm  admiration, 


INTRODUCTION  BY   THE  TRANSLATOR.  xxv 

Rousseau's  books  reflect  the  spirit  of  the  man,  and 
they  should  be  read  with  the  judgment  held  in  suspense. 
His  aphoristic,  unqualified  statements,  and  particularly  his 
paradoxes,  give  us  an  unpleasant  mental  shock,  and  we 
decline  to  be  taught  by  a  man  who  falls  so  easily  and  so 
frequently  into  what  seem  rank  absurdities ;  but  when  we 
discover  that  aphorism  and  paradox  are  with  Rousseau 
favorite  rhetorical  devices — that  their  very  intent  is  to 
surprise  and  startle ;  when  we  discover  by  further  reading 
that  these  extreme  statements,  seemingly  so  arbitrary  and 
untrue,  are  qualified  and  illustrated  in  such  a  way  as  to 
give  us  a  glimpse  of  a  many-sided  truth  that  had  hitherto 
escaped  us  ;  and  when,  finally,  by  a  sort  of  syntax  or  syn- 
thesis, we  catch  the  general  spirit  of  the  book  as  a  whole, 
we  find  ourselves  in  a  state  of  wholesome  respect,  and 
even  of  admiration. 

These  remarks  epitomize  my  experiences  with  this 
man  and  his  books,  and  I  counsel  the  reader  to  begin  his 
studies  without  prejudice,  to  weigh  as  he  goes,  but  when  he 
has  finished  to  reweigh  all  with  scrupulous  fidelity,  and  in 
the  final  estimate  of  character  to  temper  justice  with  charity. 

As  a  sort  of  general  preparation  for  the  interpretation 
of  the  Emile,  the  attention  of  the  reader  is  called  to  the 
following  observations : 

The  method  of  the  book  is  best  described  in  Rousseau's 
own  words :  "  Un  recueil  de  reflexions  et  d'observations, 
sans  ordre  et  presque  sans  suite."  The  argument  is  purely 
deductive,  starting  with  assumed  principles  or  general 
truths,  and  terminating  with  supposed  conclusions  or 
facts  ;  but  the  argument  is  never  conducted  in  a  system- 
atic way.  There  is  frequent  repetition,  apparent  contra- 
diction, long  digressions,  and,  at  times,  tedious  details ;  so 
that  it  is  by  a  process  of  slow  induction  that  the  purpose 
and  spirit  of  the  whole  become  manifest. 


XXVI  EMILE. 

Kousseau  had  a  grievance  that  weighed  heavily  on  his 
mind ;  the  old  order  of  things  in  education  appeared  to 
him  an  iniquity,  the  abolition  of  which  seemed  to  justify 
the  extremest  measures.  The  book,  therefore,  embodies  a 
violent  reaction  against  the  education  then  in  vogue,  and 
we  may  expect  the  impetus  of  the  author's  zeal  to  carry 
him  considerably  beyond  the  limit  of  actual  truth.  In- 
deed, exaggeration  and  overstatement  seem  to  be  necessary 
elements  of  the  reformer's  art ;  and  he  who  is  intent  on 
seeing  things  in  their  just  proportions  and  actual  relations 
must  make  allowance  for  overwrought  zeal,  and  discount, 
sometimes  at  a  heavy  rate,  those  overdrafts  on  the 
future. 

Eousseau  was  a  man  of  sentiment  rather  than  of  rea- 
son, and  this  book  is  a  record  of  his  emotions  rather  than 
of  his  thoughts.  In  this  respect  he  is  the  very  antithesis 
of  Locke,  whose  Thoughts  are  so  devoid  of  feeling  as  to 
be  almost  sterile.  The  immense  motive  power  of  the 
Emile  is  due  to  the  feeling  which  tinges  every  thought ; 
but  when  the  purpose  of  the  reader  is  to  discern  the 
thought  and  estimate  its  value,  he  should  be  careful  not 
to  mistake  sentiment  for  logic. 

After  so  much  that  is  preliminary,  let  us  make  a  sum- 
mary analysis  of  the  education  that  Eousseau  would  have 
substituted  for  that  which  he  covers  with  his  condemna- 
tion. Let  it  be  recollected  that  many  of  the  reforms 
which  he  recommended  have  been  adopted  and  embodied 
in  modern  education,  and  that  for  this  reason  it  is  not 
easy  to  see  the  contrasts  that  Rousseau  saw. 

I.  Education  should  be  natural.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing 
to  form  a  clear  conception  of  what  Rousseau  and  the  writ- 
ers of  his  school  mean  by  Nature  when  they  say  that  edu- 
cation should  be  natural,  and  that  the  teacher  in  his 
method  should  follow  Nature.  And  there  is  no  proof 


INTRODUCTION   BY   THE   TRANSLATOR.  xxvii 

that  these  writers  themselves  have  ever  clarified  this  term 
in  their  own  minds.  Indeed,  it  may  not  be  uncharitable 
to  suppose  that,  if  they  have  not  resorted  to  the  use  of 
this  term  in  order  to  conceal  thought,  they  have  at 
least  fallen  into  such  a  loose  habit  of  employing  it  that 
they  willingly  bewilder  their  readers  who  attempt  to  dis- 
cover their  meaning.  Mr.  Spencer's  personification  of 
the  term  is  well  known,  and  his  pages  are  easily  distin- 
guished by  the  recurrence  of  the  proper  noun  Nature. 
It  is  a  little  astonishing  that  a  grave  philosopher  should 
assign  no  better  reason  for  denying  a  proposition  than  that 
it  is  "  contrary  to  the  beautiful  economy  of  Nature  " ;  but 
his  manner  of  using  the  term  is  dignified,  and  though  the 
reader  is  not  instructed  by  this  fiction,  he  is  not  disgusted 
with  it.  We  can  not  say  so  much  of  the  copyists  and 
echoes  of  Rousseau  and  Spencer.  Their  easy  familiarity 
with  "  Xature  "  does  not  edify,  but  disgusts,  and  even  a 
benevolent  reader  who  is  in  search  of  truth  soon  has  the 
conviction  fastened  on  him  that  his  author  is  playing 
with  sound,  vox  et  prater ea  niliil.  What  patience  shall  we 
have  with  a  writer  *  who  runs  on  in  this  way,  "  Nature 
furnishes  knowledge  by  object  lessons  ?  She  makes  her 
pupil  learn  to  do  by  doing,  to  live  by  living.  She  gives 
him  no  grammar  of  seeing,  hearing,  etc. ;  she  gives  no 
compendium  of  abstract  principles.  She  teaches  quietly ; 
she  bides  her  time." 

Returning  to  Rousseau,  it  is  evident  that  we  can  not 
interpret  his  Emile  till  we  have  formed  a  notion,  more  or 
less  adequate,  of  what  he  means  by  Nature.  In  his  case 
this  is  not  so  difficult  if  we  are  guided  simply  by  the  con- 
text, and  do  not  attempt  to  understand  his  own  definition 
of  the  term  (pages  3,  4).  City  and  country,  Paris  and  the 

*  Joseph  Payne,  Lectures,  etc.,  (p.  45  Araer.  ed.) 


xxviii  EMILE. 

forest  of  Montmorency,  Eobinson  Crusoe  on  his  desert 
isle  and  a  city  lad  confined  to  ceiled  house  and  brick 
pavements,  the  Red  Indian  roaming  at  will  in  his  native 
forests  and  a  creature  and  slave  of  society  fashioned  by 
the  priest,  the  tailor,  and  the  school-master — these  are  the 
terms  of  a  contrast  that  was  ever  present  to  the  mind  of 
Rousseau.  The  ideal  man  was  the  savage,  isolated  from 
human  society  and  untainted  by  civilization;  the  ideal 
life  was  independence  of  custom,  freedom  from  the  re- 
straints of  other  wills,  and  obedience  to  nothing  but  things ; 
the  ideal  religion  was  a  spontaneous  theism,  a  direct  com- 
munion with  unseen  powers  without  the  intervention  of 
creeds  or  priest,  an  artless  and  childish  wonderment  pro- 
duced by  natural  phenomena,  and  a  reverential  fear  pro- 
duced by  the  incomprehensible  ;  and  the  ideal  education 
was  experience  resulting  from  personal  contact  with  mat- 
ter and  force,  and  thus  converted  into  prudence. 

It  was  not  through  sheer  perversity  that  Rousseau 
maintained  the  thesis  that  society  had  been  corrupted  by 
the  arts  and  sciences,  and  that  civilization  itself  was  a 
lapse  from  a  state  of  primitive  innocence  and  peace.  He 
was  a  constitutional  idealist,  sentimentalist,  and  utopian, 
and  his  recoil  from  the  corruptions  and  restraints  of  exist- 
ing society  was  so  complete  that  only  a  new  world,  con- 
structed on  new  principles,  or,  what  would  amount  to  the 
same  thing,  the  present  world  divested  of  its  so-called 
civilization,  would  satisfy  his  ideals.  In  this  general  pur- 
suit it  must  be  said  that  Rousseau  was  in  respectable, 
even  illustrious,  company.  Plato  wrote  his  Republic,  Har- 
rington his  Oceana,  More  his  Utopia,  Sidney  his  Arcadia, 
and  Hobbes  his  Leviathan,  each  to  express  his  dissatisfac- 
tion with  things  as  they  existed,  and  to  find  gratification 
in  the  ideal  construction  of  a  world  on  better  principles. 
In  all  these  creations  there  is  some  element  of  perennial 


INTRODUCTION  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR.  xxix 

truth,  something  of  which  the  succeeding  generations  of 
men  need  to  be  reminded  in  order  to  keep  the  world,  or 
to  make  the  world,  a  delectable  habitation  for  the  race. 
This  surely  is  no  mean  pursuit,  and  their  seeming  vagaries 
deserve  at  least  an  honest  effort  at  interpretation. 

A  return  to  Nature  is  a  return  to  simplicity.  There 
is  much  truth  in  Rousseau's  saying,  that  we  no  longer 
know  how  to  be  simple  in  anything.  Look  at  the  count- 
less devices  and  machines  for  teaching  a  child  how  to 
read !  What  useless  lumber !  Create  in  the  child  a  desire 
to  read,  and  all  this  apparatus  is  of  no  account ;  the  pro- 
cess becomes  simplified  to  the  last  degree,  and  the  child 
can  not  be  held  back  from  learning  how  to  read. 

In  geography  we  invent  maps,  charts,  globes,  armillary 
spheres,  etc.,  but  all  this  rubbish  comes  between  the 
child's  eyes  and  the  real  object  which  is  to  be  observed, 
namely,  the  earth.  In  other  words,  art  has  obscured  Na- 
ture, or  reality,  and  a  reform  in  teaching  requires  us  to 
do  away  with  these  obstructions  and  to  return  to  sim- 
plicity. 

There  is  no  doubt  a  tendency,  as  education  is  studied 
as  an  art,  to  encumber  teaching  with  devices,  aids,  and 
methods  without  number,  and  what  is  simple  as  an  actual 
fact  becomes  wonderfully  complex  from  the  analyst's  point 
of  view.  A  foreign  language  as  seen  through  an  analyti- 
cal grammar  is  frightfully  complex,  but  when  learned  by 
contact  with  a  native  its  difficulties  are  unnoticed.  The 
methods  and  devices  brought  from  normal  schools  are 
many  times  incumbrances  that  compromise  if  not  destroy 
the  talent  that  was  native  in  the  teacher.  Eousseau  would 
say  that  the  short  cut  to  a  good  method  is  a  strong  desire 
to  teach ;  that  when  the  end  is  clearly  seen  there  will  be 
but  little  difficulty  in  finding  a  direct  route  to  it.  "  Fol- 
low Nature  "  is  thus  convertible  into  "  Simplify  "  /  The 


XXX  EMILE. 

time  will  never  come  when  this  precept  will  not  be  whole- 
some. 

To  follow  Nature  also  signifies  to  return  to  reality. 
There  may  be  formal  teaching  just  as  there  is  formal 
logic,  both  arts  being  occupied  with  symbols  and  not  with 
realities.  The  universal  teaching  instrument  is  language, 
and  the  use  of  symbols  is  unavoidable,  but  teacher  and 
pupil  should  understand  that  these  symbols  must  be  vital- 
ized by  a  content.  The  question  of  the  ages  has  been  how 
to  connect  symbol  and  substance  in  such  a  way  that  learn- 
ing may  be  a  concrete,  living  process.  Hobbes  aimed  a 
blow  at  a  secular  error  in  learning  when  he  wrote  :  "  Words 
are  wise  men's  counters  but  the  money  of  fools " ;  and 
Comenius  attempted  to  work  a  reform  in  teaching  by 
writing  his  Orbis  Sensualium  Pictus,  a  scheme  for  bring- 
ing symbol  and  substance  together  by  means  of  pictures. 
Here  is  an  undoubted  evil ;  it  has  affected  education  from 
time  immemorial,  and  it  will  threaten  the  education  of 
all  succeeding  times. 

In  the  third  place,  to  follow  Nature  is  to  resort  to  per- 
sonal experience  rather  than  to  follow  authority ;  it  is  to 
gain  knowledge  at  first  hand  rather  than  to  accept  the 
results  of  other  men's  experience.  As  Eousseau  puts  it  in 
a  concrete  way,  "  The  child  is  not  to  learn  science,  but  to 
discover  it."  This  is  akin  to  the  dogma  of  Socrates, 
"  Science  can  not  be  taught,  only  drawn  out."  This  doc- 
trine has  been  pushed  to  its  furthest  limit  by  Mr.  Spencer, 
who  makes  education  consist  in  the  process  of  rediscovery? 
and  requires  each  child  to  reproduce  the  experiences  of 
the  race. 

It  would  not  seem  a  very  difficult  achievement  to  reach 
right  conclusions  on  this  point.  To  trust  to  mere  author- 
ity altogether  is  absurd ;  it  is  to  forego  the  pleasure  of 
living,  and  in  an  important  sense  to  cease  to  be  a  man ; 


INTRODUCTION  BY   THE   TRANSLATOR.  Xxxi 

but  to  renounce  authority  altogether,  and  to  depend  for 
our  knowledge  wholly  on  our  own  experience,  is  simply 
impossible,  and,  if  possible,  would  be  very  absurd.  There 
is  evidently  a  middle  ground  which  leaves  a  wide  field  for 
personal  experience,  and  at  the  same  time  allows  the  indi- 
vidual to  give  almost  indefinite  extension  to  his  knowledge 
by  appropriating  the  accumulated  experiences  of  the  race. 

Simplify  your  methods  as  much  as  possible ;  distrust 
the  artificial  aids  that  complicate  the  process  of  learning ; 
bring  your  pupil  face  to  face  with  reality ;  connect  symbol 
with  substance ;  make  learning,  so  far  as  possible,  a  pro- 
cess of  personal  discovery ;  depend  as  little  as  possible  on 
mere  authority.  This  is  my  interpretation  of  Eousseau's 
precept,  "  Follow  Nature." 

II.  Education  should  be  progressive. — The  mind,  like 
the  body,  passes  through  successive  stages  of  growth,  and 
in  both  cases  the  transition  from  one  stage  to  the  next 
indicates  a  corresponding  change  in  treatment.  The  in- 
fant is  a  creature  sui  generis.  Infancy  is  a  little  world  so 
peculiar  in  nature  and  need  as  to  be  virtually  cut  off  from 
the  succeeding  stage  of  life,  and  hence  requires  a  treat- 
ment peculiarly  its  own.  There  is  an  infant  physiology 
and  an  infant  psychology. 

The  next  section  of  human  life  is  childhood.  The  child 
has  his  peculiar  nature  and  needs ;  the  treatment  due  an 
infant  must  be  abandoned,  and  a  new  system  adopted 
in  conformity  with  the  nature  of  this  new  creature. 

Boyhood  follows  childhood,  and  manhood,  in  turn,  suc- 
ceeds boyhood.  These  are  successive,  and  in  some  sense 
independent,  sections  of  human  life,  and  so  peculiar  in 
nature  and  need  as  to  require  modes  of  treatment  specific- 
ally different. 

This,  in  outline,  is  Eousseau's  theory  of  progressive 
education.  The  obvious  thing  to  be  said  of  it  is  that  it  is 


xxxii  £MILE. 

so  systematic  and  artificial  as  to  be  unnatural.  The  one 
momentous  fact  common  to  all  these  so-called  stages  is 
growth,  and  all  normal  growth  is  a  series  of  insensible 
transitions.  Throughout  the  history  of  each  individual 
there  is  an  unbroken  continuity  of  the  same  organic  pro- 
cesses, mental  and  physical.  All  the  so-called  faculties  of 
the  mature  man  have  their  roots  or  beginnings  in  very 
childhood,  and  at  no  one  of  these  artificial  stages  can  we 
say  that  there  is  the  appearance  of  anything  essentially 
new — so  new  and  peculiar  as  to  require  special  treatment. 
Education  should  be  progressive  in  the  same  sense  and  to 
the  same  degree  that  life  and  growth  are  progressive ;  not 
progressive  in  the  sense  of  an  abrupt  winding  up  of  a 
lower  system  of  regimen  and  an  equally  abrupt  inaugura- 
tion of  a  higher,  but  progressive  in  the  actual  and  whole- 
some sense  of  insensible  ascent  and  modification. 

Kousseau's  theory  on  this  subject  embodies  a  reaction 
from  an  old-time  error,  which  consisted  either  in  ignoring 
the  rights  of  children  altogether  or  of  prescribing  the 
same  general  treatment  for  children  and  men.  Modern 
education  is  peculiarly  the  education  of  children.  Child- 
life  has  been  so  much  studied,  and  so  much  sympathy  and 
sentiment  have  been  created  in  the  child's  behalf,  that 
infant  methods  have  gained  an  ascendency  that  is  not 
only  harmful  to  children  but  to  adults,  for  infant  methods 
have  been  transported  into  the  higher  schools.  It  is  not 
altogether  wise  to  treat  children  as  though  they  were  men, 
but  it  is  still  more  unwise  to  treat  men  as  though  they 
were  children.  It  is  not  even  best  to  fix  a  child's  treat- 
ment on  a  dead  level  with  his  present  condition ;  the  edu- 
cation that  is  not  moderately  presumptive  and  aspiring  is 
not  of  the  right  type.  I  think  it  can  not  be  doubted  that 
in  many  cases  the  education  of  children  has  become  so 
puerile  as  not  only  to  be  worthless,  but  positively  harmful. 


INTRODUCTION   BY  THE  TRANSLATOR.          xxxiii 

In  our  effort  to  make  it  progressive  it  has  become  station- 
ary, and  even  retrograde.  The  reform  of  Jean-Jacques 
has  gone  too  far. 

III.  Education  should  be  negative.  Discipline,  train- 
ing, the  development  of  faculty,  power,  and  skill — this 
may  be  set  off  as  one  of  the  ends  of  education,  while  the 
acquirement  of  knowledge,  or  the  furnishing  of  the  mind, 
may  stand  for  the  second  purpose  of  this  art.  Generally 
speaking,  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  has  occupied  the 
first  place  in  the  teacher's  art,  and  education  has  been 
reduced  to  the  process  of  learning  memory-lessons,  while 
the  development  and  discipline  of  the  mind  itself  have  re- 
ceived no  special  attention.  Rousseau  believed  that  as 
education  was  administered  in  the  schools  of  his  day  there 
was  a  vast  disproportion  between  the  mass  of  knowledge 
accumulated  and  the  child's  power  to  comprehend  and 
use  it ;  and  so,  in  his  usual  aphoristic  style,  he  says  that  the 
important  thing  in  education  is  not  to  gain  time,  but  to 
lose  it,  and  that  he  would  prefer  that  Emile  should  reach 
his  twelfth  year  without  knowing  his  right  hand  from  his 
left,  or  right  from  wrong.  He  pushes  this  doctrine  so 
far  as  to  say  that  the  only  habit  a  child  should  form  is 
that  of  forming  no  habit.  His  thought  is,  that  as  far  as 
possible  the  child's  mind  should  be  kept  a  tabula  rasa  up 
to  the  age  of  twelve,  but  with  all  its  powers  developed,  and 
ready  when  the  signal  is  given  to  undertake  the  work  of 
acquisition,  without  prepossession  or  prejudice,  and  thus 
able  to  maintain  its  equipoise  and  independence. 

This  notion  of  making  education  negative,  and  that 
of  reducing  it  to  a  process  of  rediscovery  by  requiring  the 
child  to  gain  his  knowledge  by  personal  experience — 
these  two  ideas  Rousseau  may  have  borrowed  from  the 
Abbe  de  Condillac,  for  whom  he  has  expressed  great  ad- 
miration. In  the  introduction  to  his  Grammaire,  Con- 


XXxiv  EMILE. 

dillac  develops  the  theory  which  Mr.  Spencer  has  so 
happily  formulated,  but  he  is  met  with  the  objection 
that  if  the  child  is  to  repeat  the  experience  of  the  race  his 
progress  in  knowledge  will  be  very  slow.  The  Abbe 
meets  this  objection  in  a  very  clever  way.  The  child's 
first  study  should  be  mental  and  moral  science,  for  by  this 
means  his  mind  will  be  prepared  for  rapid  acquisition ! 
It  may  not  have  occurred  to  him  that,  according  to  the 
4  genesis  of  knowledge  in  the  race,"  mental  science  comes 
somewhat  late.  Kousseau  generalizes  his  friend's  theory, 
and  so  escapes  the  special  absurdity  referred  to.  He 
would  extend  this  process  of  mental  discipline  and  prep- 
aration over  a  period  of  twelve  years,  and  thus  abridge  the 
time  required  for  gaining  the  knowledge  really  necessary 
for  the  conduct  of  life. 

Here  as  elsewhere  we  shall  fail  in  our  interpretation 
of  Rousseau  if  we  do  more  or  less  then  catch  the  general 
spirit  of  his  paradox.  This  is  doubtless  all  he  expected 
or  intended ;  but  a  reformer  must  needs  quicken  the  pace 
of  his  sluggish  disciples  by  the  stimulus  of  exaggeration. 
To  form  the  mind  before  furnishing  it,  is  as  impossible  as 
to  form  the  body  without  feeding  it.  To  train  the  mind, 
it  must  be  exercised  on  something,  and  a  secondary  fruit 
of  this  exercise  is  some  acquisition. 

If,  in  imitation  of  Rousseau,  I  were  to  try  my  hand  at 
a  paradox,  I  would  say,  in  this  connection,  that  useless 
knowledge  is  sometimes  the  most  useful ;  meaning  by  this 
that  the  subjects  that  are  best  for  pure  training  are  some- 
times of  the  least  value  for  practical  purposes.  Algebra 
and  geometry  are  instances  of  this ;  they  are  incompa- 
rable disciplines,  but  the  average  student  derives  only  very 
little  advantage  from  the  knowledge  that  is  acquired 
while  the  discipline  is  in  progress.  Rousseau  may  not 
have  had  this  case  in  mind  when  he  uttered  this  paradox, 


INTRODUCTION  BY  THE  TRANSLATOR. 


XXXV 


but  the  thought  is  large  enough  to  include  it.  A  man 
may  say  implicitly  what  was  never  before  his  mind  ex- 
plicitly, aud  all  legitimate  interpretation  assumes  this. 

Again,  by  making  education  negative,  or,  as  Rousseau 
says  to  the  same  purpose,  by  losing  time  rather  than  by 
trying  to  gain  it,  we  extend  the  period  of  childhood  and 
allow  the  pupil  to  lead  a  sort  of  vegetative  life,  which 
Froebel  seems  to  have  had  in  mind  when  he  conceived 
the  occupations  and  gifts  at  the  kindergarten.  This  is  a 
century  of  haste ;  of  all  peoples,  we  seem  to  be  the  most 
addicted  to  this  vice,  and  the  general  drift  of  our  educa- 
tion is  to  curtail  the  period  of  discipline  and  preparation. 
We  need,  therefore,  to  be  recalled  from  time  to  time  to 
the  duty  of  going  slowly  in  order  that  we  may  go  safely 
and  well.  Festina  lente  ! 

Though  my  purpose  in  this  introduction  is  appreci- 
ation rather  than  criticism,  it  is  manifestly  fair  to  state 
what  seem  to  be  some  errors  in  Rousseau's  pedagogy.  It 
is  inevitable  that  an  author  whose  theories  are  not  con- 
trolled by  actual  experience  should  fall  into  serious  error, 
and  this  is  the  more  likely  to  happen  when  the  thought  is 
begotten  of  intense,  tumultuous  feeling. 

The  reader  will  not  have  gone  far  before  discovering 
that,  while  his  author  is  preaching  the  simplicity  and 
artlessness  of  Nature,  he  is  at  the  same  time  devising  a 
scheme  of  education  which  is  artificial  to  the  last  degree. 
The  discipline  to  which  Emile  is  subjected  is  a  systematic 
espionage.  Everything  is  foreseen  and  prearranged  to  such 
a  degree  that  the  poor  boy  has  not  the  privilege  of  one 
spontaneous  act.  The  story  of  the  juggler  is  typical  of 
Rousseau's  system  of  discipline.  What  will  such  a  boy  be 
worth  when  the  moment  of  emancipation  comes  ? 

Whenever  the  value  of  knowledge  is  discussed  the 
emphasis  is  put  on  what  is  coarsely  practical,  and  there  is 


XXXvi  EMILE. 

no  appearance  of  the  thought  that  for  the  higher  life  of 
^the  soul  there  must  be  attainment  whose  value  is  purely 
contemplative,  without  the  least  taint  of  practical  utility. 
Kousseau's  doctrine  of  memory  makes  it  necessary  for 
Emile  to  live  a  sort  of  hand-to-mouth  intellectual  life, 
but  does  not  allow  him  to  store  up  resources  within  him- 
self. Such  an  education  is  unwise  and  unsafe. 

In  the  isolation  of  Emile  from  society  during  the 
period  of  his  education  Eousseau  doubtless  intended  to 
show  what  a  human  being  might  become  when  allowed  to 
develop  under  normal  conditions.  It  is  related  that  a 
naturalist  once  discovered  in  a  mine  what  seemed  to  be  a 
new  species  of  plant,  but  when  transplanted  on  the  sur- 
face of  the  earth  it  turned  out  to  be  the  common  tansy 
— an  abnormal  habitat  had  altered  its  appearance  past 
recognition.  This  return  to  Nature  accords  with  Rous- 
seau's theory  of  society  as  being  unnatural  and  corrupt, 
but  an  education  molded  after  this  conception  is  mani- 
festly vicious.  Society  is  an  existing  fact,  and  is  doubtless 
the  normal  human  state,  while  solitude,  though  whole- 
some and  necessary  at  times,  is  an  exceptional  state  and 
ever  abnormal.  As  Emile  must  finally  live  in  society,  he 
should  be  educated  in  society,  and  an  essential  part  of  his 
training  should  come  from  his  contact  with  other  wills. 
Educated  to  be  obedient  only  to  things  and  to  his  own 
inclinations,  he  will  cut  a  sorry  figure  when  transplanted 
into  the  world  of  the  Contrat  Social. 

Should  the  child  be  adjusted  to  his  environment,  or 
should  his  environment  be  adapted  to  him  ?  Doubtless 
there  should  be  created  within  the  child  a  power  of  re- 
sistance, and  even  of  conquest,  that  will  not  only  allow  him 
to  support  existence  under  change  of  surroundings,  but 
will  enable  him  to  modify,  almost  to  recreate,  his  environ- 
ment to  suit  his  caprices  or  his  needs.  Rousseau  seems 


INTRODUCTION   BY   THE   TRANSLATOR.        xxxvii 

to  racillate  between  these  two  purposes,  but  the  general 
spirit  of  the  Emile  is  to  regard  the  child's  nature  as  a 
fixed,  hard  fact,  and  to  bend  surroundings  and  circum- 
stances to  his  needs. 

Emile's  education  is  of  the  liberal  type.  He  is,  first  of 
all,  to  be  a  fully  developed  man,  capable  of  becoming 
anything  or  of  doing  anything  at  need ;  and  the  course 
of  his  training  is  not  to  be  perverted  by  narrow  and  grov- 
eling aims.  All  this  is  admirable;  but  when  Sophie's 
education  is  taken  in  hand  Rousseau  makes  an  abrupt 
descent.  It  is  not  a  woman  who  is  to  be  trained  to  the 
perfection  of  her  powers  as  a  human  being,  but  a  serv- 
ant to  man's  needs  and  pleasures,  or  at  most  a  compan- 
ion to  share  his  joys  and  sorrows.  In  kind,  his  concep- 
tion was  the  Hebrew  ideal,*  which  is  doubtless  the  ideal 
of  all  sensible  men,  but  Sophie  falls  far  short  of  this  lov- 
able, this  matchless  original.  Rousseau  earns  our  applause 
when  he  counsels  against  the  selection  of  a  blue-stocking 
for  a  wife,  but  Sophie  bears  too  much  resemblance  to  his 
Theresa  to  merit  even  our  respect. 

The  Emile  has  justly  been  called  the  Gospel  of  Child- 
hood. If  it  had  no  other  claims  to  consideration  it  would 
deserve  the  homage  of  parents  and  teachers  by  reason  of 
that  sacredness  with  which  it  invests  the  personality  of 
every  child.  In  what  other  book  of  human  origin  can 
we  find  such  compassion  for  the  weakness  of  childhood, 
such  tender  regard  for  its  happiness,  and  such  touching 
pleas  for  its  protection  and  guidance  ?  What  other  book 
has  ever  recalled  mothers  to  a  sense  of  their  duties  with 
such  pathos  and  effect  ?  The  Emile  has  made  the  ministry 
of  the  school-room  as  sacred  as  the  ministry  of  the  altar ; 
and  by  unfolding  the  mysteries  of  his  art  and  disclosing 

*Proyerbs  xxxi,  10-31. 


xxxv 

the  secret  of  his  power,  it  has  made  the  teacher's  office 
one  of  honor  and  respect. 

The  power  of  the  book  lies  in  its  general  spirit  rather 
than  in  any  doctrine  or  method  which  it  embodies.  If 
read  with  kindly  feeling  and  without  prejudice,  it  can  not 
fail  to  inspire  teachers  with  the  noblest  ambition,  and  to 
quicken  their  methods  with  living  power.  I  have  read 
many  books  which  profess  to  illustrate  the  art  of  educa- 
tion and  to  prescribe  rational  methods  of  instruction,  but 
to  none  am  I  so  much  indebted  in  all  good  ways  as  to  the 
Emile,  and  there  is  no  other  book  which  I  can  so  heartily 
commend  to  teachers  as  a  perennial  source  of  inspiration 
and  kindly  aid. 

It  has  been  no  easy  task  to  make  the  selections  com- 
posing this  volume — to  decide  what  to  retain  and  what  to 
reject  from  the  original  work.  It  was  plain,  on  the  start, 
that  a  translation  of  the  whole  was  not  desirable,  simply 
on  the  ground  of  bulk,  for  it  would  require  at  least  two 
volumes  like  this  ;  and  then,  by  omitting  merely  the  un- 
important or  less  important  parts,  the  volume  would  be 
swelled  to  an  unwieldy  size.  A  fragment  of  the  whole 
would  be  misleading ;  it  would  convey  an  erroneous  im- 
pression of  the  book  and  its  author,  and  would  leave  the 
statement  of  important  doctrines  without  the  illustrations 
and  amendments  necessary  for  their  proper  interpretation. 
In  making  my  selections  I  have  endeavored  to  give  the 
reader  a  fair  idea  of  the  book  as  a  whole.  I  have  not  re- 
stricted myself  to  what  is  currently  orthodox  in  doctrine, 
or  to  what  will  have  the  approval  of  sobriety  and  good 
taste.  At  times  Rousseau  preaches  false  doctrines,  and 
sometimes  is  almost  grotesquely  prejudiced  and  absurd, 
and  it  would  be  unfair  to  the  reader  to  omit  specimens  of 
these  bad  humors. 


INTRODUCTION   BY   THE   TRANSLATOR.          XXXIX 

In  my  translation  I  have  aimed  to  give  a  faithful  re- 
production of  Rousseau's  thought,  and  to  this  end  I  have 
seldom  or  never  resorted  to  paraphrase,  even  when  the 
author's  meaning  seemed  obscure,  but  have  made  my  ren- 
dering as  nearly  literal  as  good  English  would  allow.  It 
is  quite  possible  that  my  close  adherence  to  the  text  may 
sometimes  have  betrayed  me  into  the  use  of  Gallicisms, 
but  such  mistakes  are  less  vexatious  and  misleading  than 
those  which  almost  inevitably  result  from  free  translation. 

Partly  to  re-enforce  my  own  opinions  of  Rousseau  and 
his  work,  but  much  more  to  place  before  my  readers  the 
opinions  of  distinguished  Frenchmen  on  their  immor- 
tal countryman,  I  add  an  appendix  containing  short 
quotations  from  a  very  remarkable  book  by  John  Grand- 
Carteret — J.  J.  Rousseau  juge  par  les  Fran9ais  d'au- 
jourd'hui. 

My  translation  of  the  Emile  is  made  from  the  collected 
edition  of  Rousseau's  works,  in  twenty-nine  volumes,  pub- 
lished in  Paris,  1824,  and  edited  by  Auguis.  The  notes 
unsigned  are  mainly  Rousseau's  own,  and  those  in  brack- 
ets are  by  his  editors ;  my  own  annotations  (signed  P.)  are 
such  as  I  have  been  accustomed  to  give  students  as  aids  in 
the  interpretation  of  the  Emile. 

As  I  sum  up  my  impressions  of  Rousseau  and  the 
Emile,  I  chance  to  be  upon  a  mountain  of  the  Cumberland 
range,  where  the  peculiar  effects  and  charms  of  Nature 
are  almost  wholly  undisturbed  by  human  agency.  My 
cottage  is  in  the  midst  of  a  forest,  where  wild  birds  and 
wild  flowers  hold  undisputed  sway. 

As  I  have  read  and  written  and  meditated  from  day 
to  day  thus  in  touch  with  Nature,  I  think  I  have  been 
able  in  some  measure  to  discern  the  secret  which  was 
working  itself  outward  in  Rousseau's  heart  and  thought ; 
and  this  sympathy  with  Nature  has  helped  me  to  under- 


xl  EMILE. 

stand  and  interpret  much  that  before  had  been  obscure 
and  meaningless ;  and,  while  not  blind  to  his  weaknesses 
and  vices,  I  come  from  my  studies  with  a  new  admiration 
and  respect  for  the  man  and  his  works. 

WILLIAM  H.  PAYNE. 
UNIVERSITY  OF  NASHVILLE, 
PEABODY  NORMAL  COLLEGE,  June  18,  1892. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE. 


THIS  collection  of  reflections  and  observations,  with- 
out order  and  almost  without  connection,  was  begun  to 
please  a  good  mother,*  who  knew  how  to  think.  My 
original  purpose  was  to  write  only  a  memorandum  of  a 
few  pages ;  but  my  theme  led  me  on  against  my  will,  and 
that  memorandum  insensibly  became  a  sort  of  book,  too 
large,  doubtless,  for  what  it  contains,  but  too  small  for 
the  subject  which  it  discusses.  I  hesitated  a  long  time 
about  publishing  it ;  and  I  was  often  made  to  feel,  while 
working  at  it,  that  the  writing  of  a  few  pamphlets  is  not  a 
sufficient  preparation  for  composing  a  book.  After  mak- 
ing vain  efforts  to  do  better,  I  think  it  my  duty  to  publish 
my  book  just  as  it  is,  judging  that  it  is  important  to  turn 
public  attention  in  this  direction,  and  that,  even  though 
my  ideas  are  perchance  bad,  my  time  will  not  be  wholly 
lost  if  I  succeed  by  this  means  in  stimulating  others  to 
produce  better  ones.  A  man  who,  from  his  retreat,  casts 
his  reflections  before  the  public  without  puffers  or  parti- 
sans to  defend  them,  without  even  knowing  what  is  said 
or  thought  of  them,  has  no  reason  to  fear  that,  if  he  has 
deceived  himself,  his  errors  will  be  accepted  without  ex- 
amination. 

*  Madame  de  Chenonceauz. 

(ill) 


I  shall  say  little  of  the  importance  of  a  good  educa- 
tion, nor  shall  I  stop  to  prove  that  the  education  of  the 
day  is  bad.  Thousands  of  others  have  said  this  before 
me,  and  1  have  no  desire  to  fill  a  book  with  things  which 
everybody  knows.  I  shall  merely  observe,  that  for  count- 
less ages  there  has  been  a  perennial  protest  against  the 
current  practice,  but  no  one  has  seen  fit  to  propose  a  bet- 
ter. The  literature  and  the  learning  of  our  century  tend 
much  more  to  destroy  than  to  construct.  Censure  is  ad- 
ministered in  a  tone  of  authority ;  but  in  order  to  bring 
about  a  reform,  there  must  be  adopted  a  different  tone, 
and  one  less  pleasing  to  philosophic  arrogance.  Notwith- 
standing so  many  treatises  whose  only  purpose,  it  is  said, 
is  public  utility,  the  very  first  of  all  the  utilities — that  of 
forming  men — is  still  forgotten.  My  subject  was  entirely 
new  after  Locke's  treatise,*  and  I  am  very  much  afraid  it 
will  be  still  so,  after  my  own. 

We  do  not  know  childhood.  Acting  on  the  false  ideas 
we  have  of  it,  the  farther  we  go  the  farther  we  wander 
from  the  right  path.  Those  who  are  wisest  are  attached 
to  what  is  important  for  men  to  know,  without  consider- 
ing what  children  are  able  to  apprehend.  They  are  al- 
ways looking  for  the  man  in  the  child,  without  thinking 
of  what  he  was  before  he  became  a  man.  This  is  the 
study  upon  which  I  am  most  intent,  to  the  end  that, 
though  my  method  may  be  chimerical  and  false,  profit 
may  always  be  derived  from  my  observations.  I  may  have 
a  very  poor  conception  of  what  ought  to  be  done,  but  I 
think  I  have  a  correct  view  of  the  subject  on  which  we 
are  to  operate.  Begin,  then,  by  studying  your  pupils 
more  thoroughly,  for  it  is  very  certain  that  you  do  not 
know  them.  Now,  if  you  read  this  book  of  mine  with  this 

*  Thoughts  on  Education,  1721. 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xliii 

purpose  in  view,  I  do  not  believe  that  it  will  be  without 
profit  to  you. 

With  respect  to  what  will  be  called  the  systematic  part 
of  my  work,  which  in  this  instance  is  nothing  but  the 
order  of  nature,  I  allow  that  this  is  what  will  disconcert 
the  reader  the  most.  It  is  here,  doubtless,  that  attacks 
will  be  made  upon  me,  and  perhaps  with  justice.  People 
will  think  they  are  reading,  not  so  much  a  treatise  on 
education,  as  the  reveries  of  a  visionary  upon  education. 
How  should  I  proceed  in  the  case?  In  what  I  write  I  do 
not  follow  the  ideas  of  others,  but  my  own.  I  do  not  see 
as  other  men  do,  and  this  has  long  been  a  reproach  to 
me ;  but  is  it  within  my  power  to  give  myself  other  eyes, 
and  to  affect  myself  with  other  ideas  ?  By  no  means.  It 
is  within  my  power,  however,  not  to  confide  too  much  in 
my  own  opinion,  and  not  to  think  that  I  am  wiser  than 
all  the  world  beside.  In  a  word,  I  can  not  avoid  feeling 
as  I  do,  but  I  can  be  on  my  guard  against  my  own  feel- 
ings. This  is  all  I  can  do,  and  is  what  I  shall  engage  to 
do.  And  if  I  sometimes  speak  in  the  indicative  mode,  it 
is  not  for  the  purpose  of  imposing  my  beliefs  on  the 
reader,  but  to  speak  to  him  just  as  I  think.  Why  should 
I  declare,  under  the  form  of  a  doubt,  a  thing  of  which  I 
have  not  the  least  doubt  ?  I  say  exactly  what  passes  within 
my  own  mind. 

While  setting  forth  my  opinions  with  such  freedom,  I 
have  so  slight  a  purpose  to  make  them  seem  authoritative 
that  I  always  state  my  reasons  for  them,  so  that  men  may 
weigh  them  and  judge  of  me  accordingly ;  but  though  I 
have  no  obstinate  desire  to  defend  my  opinions,  I  still 
feel  obliged  to  assert  them ;  for  the  maxims  which  give 
rise  to  differences  of  opinion  between  myself  and  others 
are  by  no  means  indifferent.  They  are  maxims  whose 
truth  or  falsity  it  is  important  to  understand,  for  they 


EMILE. 

effect  the  happiness  or  the  unhappiness  of  the  human 
race. 

I  am  continually  admonished  to  propose  what  is  prac- 
ticable !  This  is  equivalent  to  saying,  "  Propose  to  do 
what  is  being  done  " !  or,  at  least,  "  Propose  some  good 
which  is  allied  to  the  existing  evil "  !  Such  a  proposition, 
with  respect  to  many  things,  is  much  more  chimerical 
than  my  own;  for  by  such  an  alliance  the  good  is  cor- 
rupted, and  the  evil  is  not  cured.  I  would  rather  follow 
the  established  usage  throughout  than  to  adopt  a  good 
one  by  halves — there  would  be  less  contradiction  in  man ; 
he  can  not  direct  his  efforts  to  two  opposite  ends  at  once. 
Fathers  and  mothers,  what  you  are  willing  to  do  is  the 
practicable  !  Ought  I  to  be  held  accountable  for  what 
you  desire  ? 

In  every  kind  of  undertaking  there  are  two  things  to 
be  considered :  first  of  all,  the  absolute  good  of  the  pro- 
posed measure ;  and  then,  the  facility  with  which  it  can 
be  executed. 

Thus,  in  the  first  place,  it  suffices,  in  order  that  an 
undertaking  may  be  admissible  and  practicable  in  itself, 
that  it  have  in  it  some  intrinsic  good — in  the  present  case, 
for  example,  that  the  proposed  education  shall  be  fit  for 
man  and  well  adapted  to  the  human  heart. 

The  second  consideration  depends  on  conditions  found 
in  certain  situations — conditions  accidental  io  the  thing 
itself,  and  which  consequently  are  not  essential,  but  may 
vary  ad  infinitum.  Thus,  an  education  of  a  certain  kind 
may  be  practicable  in  Switzerland,  but  not  in  France; 
one  kind  of  education  may  be  best  for  the  middle  class, 
and  another  for  the  nobility.  The  facility  of  execution, 
greater  or  less,  depends  on  a  thousand  circumstances 
which  it  is  impossible  to  determine  save  by  a  particular 
application  of  the  method  to  such  or  such  a  country,  or 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE.  xlv 

to  such  or  such  a  condition.  Now,  all  such  special  appli- 
cations, not  being  essential  to  my  subject,  do  not  form  a 
part  of  my  plan.  Others  may  give  attention  to  them  if 
they  see  fit,  each  for  the  country  or  class  which  he  has  in 
view.  It  is  sufficient  for  me  that,  wherever  men  are  born, 
they  may  be  trained  according  to  my  plan;  and  that, 
having  been  trained  as  I  propose,  they  will  constitute 
what  is  best  both  for  themselves  and  for  others.  If  I  do 
not  fulfill  this  agreement,  I  am  doubtless  wrong;  but  if  I 
do  fulfill  it,  it  would  be  wrong  to  demand  more  of  me,  for 
this  is  all  I  promise. 


MILE. 


BOOK    FIRST. 

INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES. 

EVERYTHING  is  good  as  it  comes  from  the  hands  of 
the  Author  of  Nature ;  but  everything  degenerates  in  the 
hands  of  man.*  He  forces  one  country  to  nourish  the 
productions  of  another;  one  tree  to  bear  the  fruits  of 
another.  He  mingles  and  confounds  the  climates,  the 
elements,  the  seasons;  he  mutilates  his  dog,  his  horse, 
and  his  slave ;  he  overturns  everything,  disfigures  every- 
thing ;  he  loves  deformity,  monsters ;  he  will  have  noth- 
ing as  Nature  made  it,  not  even  man ;  like  a  saddle-horse, 
man  must  be  trained  for  man's  service — he  must  be  made 
over  according  to  his  fancy,  like  a  tree  in  his  garden. 

*  This  is  the  key-note  to  Rousseau's  theory  of  education,  and  is 
the  central  thought  of  all  the  writers  of  the  Spencerian  school, 
whose  definition  of  education  might  be  formulated  as  follows: 
Education  is  adaptation  to  environment  by  environment.  By  Nature, 
these  writers  seem  to  mean  the  world  of  matter  and  of  physical 
forces,  personified  as  an  intelligent  and  infallible  guide ;  and  from 
environment  they  carefully  exclude  all  the  modifications  of  matter 
and  force  which  have  been  made  by  human  art. 

Rousseau,  who  was  ever  inclined  to  adopt  extreme  views,  and  who 
was  incapable  of  stating  a  case  with  judicial  fairness,  sought  to 
divest  the  current  education  of  its  artificial  and  absurd  forms  by  a 


2  EMILE. 

Plants  are  formed  by  cultivation  and  men  by  educa- 
tion. Had  man  been  born  tall  and  strong,  his  stature  and 
strength  would  have  been  useless  to  him  until  he  had  been 
taught  to  use  them ;  they  would  have  been  injurious  to 
him  by  preventing  others  from  thinking  of  assisting  him ; 
and,  left  to  himself,  he  would  have  died  of  want  before 
he  had  known  his  needs.  People  pity  the  lot  of  the  child ; 
they  do  not  see  that  the  -human  race  would  have  perished 
if  man  had  not  begun  by  being  a  child. 

We  are  born  weak ;  we  have  need  of  strength  :  we  are 
born  destitute  of  everything;  we  have  need  of  assistance: 
we  are  born  stupid ;  we  have  need  of  judgment.  All  that 
we  have  not  at  our  birth,  but  which  we  need  when  we  are 
grown,  is  given  us  by  education. 

We  derive  this  education  from  nature,  from  men,  or 
from  things.  The  internal  development  of  our  faculties 
and  organs  is  the  education  of  nature ;  the  use  which  we 
learn  to  make  of  this  development  is  the  education  of 
men ;  while  the  acquisition  of  personal  experience  from 
the  objects  that  affect  us  is  the  education  of  things.* 

return  toward  primitive  simplicity ;  and  so  he  sequesters  Emile,  his 
trial  pupil  from  the  abnormal  society  of  the  day,  somewhat  as  & 
naturalist  might  remove  a  plant  from  an  abnormal  habitat  in  order 
to  discover  its  real  character  and  to  restore  it  to  proper  conditions 
of  growth.  Rousseau  believed  that  French  society  had  become  so 
bad,  or  so  unnatural,  that  a  child  could  not  be  trained  into  a  real 
man  while  surrounded  by  so  many  perverting-and  disturbing  influ- 
ences ;  but  after  he  has  received  his  training  he  is  restored  to  so- 
ciety, protected  against  its  allurements,  and  capable  of  working  for 
its  regeneration.  Possibly  his  scheme  of  education  may  have  been 
borrowed  from  Plato's  Allegory  of  the  Cavern. — (P.) 

*  This  is  a  very  crude  statement.  "  The  internal  development  of 
our  faculties  and  organs  "  is  not  education  in  any  intelligible  and 
helpful  sense  ;  "  the  use  which  we  learn  to  make  of  this  develop- 
ment "  is  only  a  part  of  education,  while  "  the  acquisition  of  per- 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  3 

Each  one  of  us  is  thus  formed  by  three  kinds  of  teach- 
ers. The  pupil  in  whom  their  different  lessons  are  at 
variance  is  badly  educated,  and  will  never  be  in  harmony 
with  himself ;  while  he  in  whom  they  all  agree,  in  whom 
they  all  tend  to  the  same  end — he  alone  moves  toward 
his  destiny  and  consistently  lives ;  he  alone  is  well  edu- 
cated.* 

Now,  of  these  three  different  educations,  that  of  nature 
is  entirely  independent  of  ourselves,  while  that  of  things 
depends  on  ourselves  only  in  certain  respects.  The  edu- 
cation we  receive  of  men  is  the  only  one  of  which  we  are 
truly  the  masters ;  but  even  this  is  true  only  in  theory, 
for  who  can  hope  to  have  the  entire  direction  of  the  con- 
versation and  acts  of  those  who  surround  a  child  ? 

As  soon,  then,  as  education  becomes  an  art,  it  is  well- 
nigh  impossible  for  it  to  succeed,  for  no  one  has  in  his 
control  all  the  conditions  necessary  for  its  success.  All 
that  can  be  done  by  dint  of  effort  is  to  approach  the  final 
purpose  as  nearly  as  possible  ;  but  to  attain  it  we  must  be 
aided  by  fortune. 

What  is  this  purpose  ?  It  is  the  very  one  proposed  by 
nature,  as  has  just  been  shown.  Since  the  co-operation  of 
the  three  educations  is  necessary  for  their  perfection,  it  is 
to  the  one  over  which  we  have  no  control  that  we  must 
direct  the  other  two.  But  perhaps  this  word  nature  has 
too  vague  a  meaning ;  we  must  here  make  an  attempt  to 
determine  it. 

Xature,  we  are  told,  is  but  habit. f     What  does  this 

sonal  experience  from  the  objects  that  affect  us  "  is  more  properly 
the  education  of  nature. — (P.) 

*  See  Plutarch's  Morals :  Of  the  Education  of  Children. 

f  M.  Formey  assures  us  that  this  is  not  exactly  what  has  been 
said ;  but  yet  it  seems  to  me  the  very  thing  that  is  said  in  the  fol- 
lowing line  to  which  I  proposed  to  respond : 
4 


4  tiMILE. 

mean  '{  Are  there  not  habits  that  we  contract  only  through 
compulsion,  and  that  never  stifle  nature  ?  Such,  for  ex- 
ample, is  the  habit  of  plants  whose  vertical  direction  is 
impeded.  The  plant,  set  at  liberty,  preserves  the  incli- 
nation it  was  forced  to  take  ;  but  the  sap  has  not  on  this 
account  changed  its  primitive  direction,  and  if  the  plant 
continues  to  grow,  its  prolongation  again  becomes  vertical. 
The  same  is  true  of  the  inclinations  of  men.  So  long  as  we 
remain  in  the  same  condition  we  can  preserve  those  which 
result  from  habit  and  which  are  the  least  natural  to  us ; 
but  the  moment  the  situation  changes,  habit  ceases  and 
the  natural  is  restored.  Education  is  certainly  nothing 
but  a  habit.  Now,  there  are  people  who  forget  and  lose 
their  education,  and  others  who  hold  to  it.  Whence 
comes  this  difference  ?  If  we  were  to  limit  the  term  na- 
ture to  habits  that  are  in  conformity  with  Nature,  we 
might  spare  ourselves  this  nonsense. 

We  are  born  sensible,  and  from  our  birth  we  are  affect- 
ed in  different  ways  by  the  objects  which  surround  us.  As 
soon  as  we  have  the  consciousness,  so  to  speak,  of  our 
sensations,  we  are  disposed  to  seek  or  to  shun  the  objects 
which  produce  them  :  first,  according  as  they  are  agree- 
able or  disagreeable  to  us ;  then,  according  to  the  con- 
gruity  or  the  incongruity  which  we  find  between  ourselves 
and  these  objects ;  and,  finally,  according  to  the  judg- 
ments which  we  derive  from  them  relative  to  the  idea  of 
happiness  or  perfection  which  is  given  us  by  the  reason. 

"  La  nature,  crois-moi,  n'est  rien  que  Thabitude." 
M.  Formey,*  who  does  not  wish  to  make  his  fellow-creatures 

proud,  modestly  gives  us  the  measure  of  his  own  brain  for  that  of 

the  human  understanding. 

*  This  M.  Formey  was  the  author  of  an  Anti-Emile,  and  edited 

an  expurgated  edition  of  the  fimile,  under  the  title  of  the  l£mile 

Chretien.— (P.) 


INFANCY—  GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  5 

These  dispositions  are  extended  and  strengthened  in  pro- 
portion as  we  become  more  susceptible  and  enlightened ; 
but,  constrained  by  our  habits,  they  change  more  or  less 
with  our  opinions.  Before  this  alteration,  these  disposi- 
tions are  what  I  call  our  nature. 

It  is,  then,  to  these  primitive  dispositions  that  every- 
thing should  be  referred ;  and  this  might  be  done  if  our 
three  educations  were  merely  different :  but  what  are  we 
to  do  when  they  are  opposed  to  one  another;  when, 
instead  of  educating  a  man  for  himself,  we  wish  to  edu- 
cate him  for  others?  Then  agreement  is  impossible. 
Compelled  to  oppose  nature  or  our  social  institutions,  we 
must  choose  between  making  a  man  and  a  citizen,  for  we 
can  not  make  both  at  once.* 

The  natural  man  is  complete  in  himself;  he  is  the 
numerical  unit,  the  absolute  whole,  who  is  related  only  to 
himself  or  to  his  fellow-man.  Civilized  man  is  but  a 
fractional  unit  that  is  dependent  on  its  denominator,  and 
whose  value  consists  in  its  relation  to  the  whole,  which 
is  the  social  organization.  Good  social  institutions  are 
those  which  are  the  best  able  to  make  man  unnatural, 
and  to  take  from  him  his  absolute  existence  in  order  to 

*  This  is  like  the  difficulty  which  Mr.  Bain  finds  in  "  reconciling 
the  whole  man  with  himself "  (Education  as  a  Science,  p.  2),  and 
points  to  one  of  the  most  serious  problems  in  education.  There  is 
some  degree  of  incompatibility,  as  things  go,  between  the  artisan, 
or  the  citizen,  and  the  man,  and  there  is  always  occasion  to  readjust 
these  relations  on  the  basis  of  the  higher  claims  of  manhood.  This 
is  the  explanation  of  "  labor  troubles,"  "  civil-service  reform,"  etc. 
Rousseau's  doctrine  is  doubtless  correct :  education  must  have  chief 
and  direct  reference  to  the  future  man,  and  only  a  subordinate  and 
remote  reference  to  the  future  artisan  or  citizen.  In  his  famous 
"  orders  of  activities  "  (Education,  p.  32)  Mr.  Spencer  would  seem  to 
reverse  this  order,  placing  the  narrower  aim  first  and  the  wider 
last.— <P.) 


give  him  one  which  is  relative,  and  to  transport  the  me 
into  the  common  unity,  in  such  a  way  that  each  individual 
no  longer  feels  himself  one,  but  a  part  of  the  unit,  and 
is  no  longer  susceptible  of  feeling  save  when  forming  a 
part  of  the  whole. 

In  order  to  be  something,  to  be  one's  self  and  always 
one,  we  must  act  as  we  speak ;  we  must  always  be  decided 
on  the  course  we  ought  to  take,  must  take  it  boldly,  and 
must  follow  it  to  the  end.  I  am  waiting  to  be  shown  this 
prodigy  in  order  to  know  whether  he  is  man  or  citizen, 
or  how  he  manages  to  be  both  at  the  same  time. 

From  these  objects,  necessarily  opposed  one  to  the 
other,  there  come  two  forms  of  institutions  of  contrary 
nature — the  one  public  and  common,  the  other  private  and 
domestic. 

Would  you  form  an  idea  of  public  education  ?  Read 
the  Republic  of  Plato.  It  is  not  a  work  on  politics,  as 
those  think  who  judge  of  books  by  their  titles,  but  it  is 
the  finest  work  on  education  ever  written.* 

When  one  would  refer  us  to  the  land  of  chimeras,  he 
names  the  educational  system  of  Plato ;  though  if  Lycur- 
gus  had  formed  his  only  on  paper,  I  should  have  thought 
it  the  more  chimerical.  Plato  has  done  no  more  than 
purify  the  heart  of  man ;  but  Lycurgus  has  made  it  un- 
natural. 

A  system  of  public  instruction  no  longer  exists  and 
can  no  longer  exist,  because  where  there  is  no  longer  a 
country  there  can  no  longer  be  citizens.  These  two  words, 

*  Perhaps  the  reader  need  not  be  admonished  that  the  Republic 
is  a  treatise  on  government,  and  that  education  is  treated  only  as 
an  incidental  question ;  though  the  general  doctrine  of  education 
as  a  function  of  the  state  is  so  profound,  that  this  dialogue  may 
justly  be  regarded  as  the  first  great  educational  classic  in  order  of 
time.— (P.) 


LVFAXCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  7 

country  and  citizen,  onght  to  be  expunged  from  modern 
languages.  I  have  a  good  reason  for  saying  this,  but  I  do 
not  care  to  state  it,  as  it  has  no  bearing  on  my  subject. 

I  do  not  regard  as  a  system  of  public  instruction 
these  ridiculous  establishments  called  colleges.*  Xor  do 
I  take  into  account  the  education  of  the  world,  because 
this  education,  tending  toward  two  opposite  ends,  fails 
to  reach  either  of  them ;  it  is  fit  only  to  make  men  double- 
faced,  seeming  always  to  attribute  everything  to  others, 
but  never  attributing  anything  save  to  themselves.  X ow 
these  pretenses,  being  common  to  everybody,  deceive  no 
one.  They  are  so  many  misspent  efforts. 

Finally,  there  remains  domestic  education,  or  that  of 
nature ;  but  what  would  a  man  be  worth  for  others  who 
had  been  educated  solely  for  himself  ?  If  perchance  the 
double  object  proposed  could  be  realized  in  a  single  indi- 
vidual by  removing  the  contradictions  in  human  life,  we 
should  remove  a  great  obstacle  to  man's  happiness.  To 
form  a  conception  of  such  a  one,  we  should  need  to  see 
him  in  his  perfect  state,  to  have  observed  his  inclinations* 
to  have  seen  his  progress,  and  to  have  followed  the  course 
of  his  development.  In  a  word,  it  would  be  necessary  to 
know  the  natural  man.  I  believe  that  my  reader  will  have 
made  some  progress  in  these  researches  after  having  read 
this  essay. 

To  form  this  rare  creature,  what  have  we  to  do  ?  Much, 
doubtless,  but  chiefly  to  prevent  anything  from  being  done. 

*  In  several  schools,  and  particularly  in  the  University  of  Paris, 
there  are  professors  whom  I  love,  whom  I  hold  in  high  esteem,  and 
whom  I  deem  very  capable  of  wisely  instructing  youth,  if  they  were 
not  compelled  to  follow  the  established  usages.  I  have  urged  one  of 
these  to  publish  the  plan  of  reform  which  he  has  thought  out.  Per- 
haps we  may  finally  be  tempted  to  cure  the  evil  when  we  see  that  it 
is  not  without  a  remedy. 


g  EMILE. 

When  all  we  have  to  do  is  to  sail  before  the  wind,  simple 
tacking  suffices ;  but  if  the  sea  runs  high  and  we  wish  to 
hold  our  place,  we  must  cast  anchor.  Take  care,  young 
pilot,  that  your  cable  does  not  slip,  that  your  anchor  does 
not  drag,  and  that  your  boat  does  not  drift  on  shore  before 
you  are  aware  of  it ! 

In  the  social  sphere,  where  all  have  their  destined 
places,  each  should  be  educated  for  his  own.  If  an  indi- 
vidual who  has  been  trained  for  his  place  withdraws  from 
it,  he  is  no  longer  good  for  anything.  Education  is  useful 
only  so  long  as  fortune  accords  with  the  vocation  of  par- 
ents. In  every  other  case  it  is  harmful  to  the  pupil,  were 
it  only  for  the  prejudices  which  it  has  given  him.  In 
Egypt,  where  the  son  was  obliged  to  follow  the  vocation  of 
his  father,  education  at  least  had  an  assured  object ;  but 
with  us,  where  the  classes  alone  are  permanent,  and  where 
men  are  ever  passing  from  one  to  another,  no  one  knows 
whether,  in  educating  his  son  for  his  own  social  order,  he 
may  not  be  working  in  opposition  to  the  son's  interest. 

In  the  natural  order  of  things,  all  men  being  equal, 
their  common  vocation  is  manhood,  and  whoever  is  well 
trained  for  that  can  not  fulfill  badly  any  vocation  con- 
nected with  it.  Whether  my  pupil  be  destined  for  the 
army,  the  church,  or  the  bar,  concerns  me  but  little.  Re- 
gardless of  the  vocation  of  his  parents,  nature  summons 
him  to  the  duties  of  human  life.  To  live  is  the  trade  I 
wish  to  teach  him.*  On  leaving  my  hands,  he  will  not,  I 
grant,  be  a  magistrate,  a  soldier,  or  a  priest.  First  of  all 
he  will  be  a  man ;  and  all  that  a  man  ought  to  be,  he  can 
be  when  the  occasion  requires  it,  just  as  well  as  any  one 

*  Qui  se  totam  ad  vitam  instruxit,  non  desiderat  particulatim 
admoneri,  doctus  in  totum,  non  quomodo  cum  uxore  aut  cumfiliis 
viveret,  sed  quomodo  bene  viveret. — SENECA,  Ep.  94. 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  9 

else  can ;  and  fortune  will  make  him  change  his  place  in 
vain,  for  he  will  always  be  in  his  own.* 

Our  real  study  is  that  of  human  destiny.  He  who 
knows  how  best  to  support  the  good  and  the  evil  of  this 
life,  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  best  educated ;  whence  it  fol- 
lows that  the  real  education  consists  less  in  precepts  than 
in  practice.  Our  instruction  begins  when  we  begin  to 
live ;  our  education  begins  with  our  birth ;  and  our  first 
teacher  is  our  nurse. 

AVe  must,  then,  generalize  our  views,  and  consider  in  our 
pupil  man  in  general — man  exposed  to  all  the  accidents 
of  human  life.  If  men  were  born  attached  to  their  native 
soil,  if  the  same  weather  lasted  the  whole  year,  if  the  for- 
tune of  each  were  so  fixed  that  it  could  never  change,  the 
current  practice  would  be  good  in  certain  respects ;  the 
child  educated  for  his  special  vocation,  and  never  with- 
drawing from  it,  would  not  be  exposed  to  the  inconven- 
iences of  another.  But,  considering  the  mutability  of  hu- 
man affairs,  and  the  restless,  revolutionary  spirit  of  this 
century,  which  overthrows  the  whole  existing  order  of 
things  once  in  each  generation,  can  we  conceive  a  more 
senseless  method  than  that  of  educating  a  child  as  though 
he  were  never  to  leave  his  chamber,  and  were  always  to 
be  surrounded  by  his  attendants?  If  the  unfortunate 
creature  take  a  single  step  on  the  ground,  or  attempts  to 
descend  the  stairs,  he  is  lost.  This  is  not  teaching  him  to 
endure  suffering,  but  is  training  him  to  feel  it. 

We  think  only  of  protecting  our  child,  but  this  is  not 
enough.  We  ought  to  teach  him  to  protect  himself  when 
he  has  become  a  man ;  to  bear  the  blows  of  destiny ;  to 
brave  opulence  and  misery ;  to  live,  if  need  be,  amid  the 

*  Occupavi  te,  fortuna,  atque  eepi  ;  omnesque  aditus  tuos  inter' 
cliisi,  ut  ad  me  aspirare  non  posses, — CICERO,  Tuscul.  v,  cap.  ix. 


10 

snows  of  Iceland  or  on  the  burning  rocks  of  Malta.  It  is 
in  vain  that  you  take  precaution  against  his  dying,  for 
after  all  he  must  die  ;  and  even  though  his  death  may  not 
result  from  your  solicitudes,  they  are  nevertheless  unwise. 
It  is  of  less  consequence  to  prevent  him  from  dying  than 
to  teach  him  how  to  live.  To  live  is  not  to  breathe,  but 
to  act ;  it  is  to  make  use  of  our  organs,  of  our  senses,  of 
our  faculties,  of  every  element  of  our  nature  which  makes 
us  sensible  of  our  existence.  The  man  who  has  lived 
most  is  not  he  who  has  numbered  the  most  years,  but  he 
who  has  had  the  keenest  sense  of  life.  Men  have  been 
buried  at  the  age  of  a  hundred  who  died  at  the  moment 
of  birth.  They  would  have  gained  by  going  to  their 
graves  in  their  youth,  if  up  to  that  time  they  had  really 
lived.* 

All  our  wisdom  consists  in  servile  prejudices,  all  our 
customs  are  but  servitude,  worry,  and  constraint.  Civil- 
ized man  is  born,  lives,  and  dies  in  a  state  of  slavery.  At 
his  birth  he  is  stitched  in  swaddling-clothes ;  at  his  death 
he  is  nailed  in  his  coffin ;  and  as  long  as  he  preserves  the 
human  form  he  is  fettered  by  our  institutions. 

It  is  said  that  nurses  sometimes  pretend  to  give  the 
heads  of  infants  a  more  proper  form  by  a  sort  of  molding ; 
and  we  suffer  them  to  do  this!  It  seems  that  our  heads 
were  badly  fashioned  by  the  Author  of  Nature,  and  that 
they  need  to  be  made  over,  outwardly  by  nurses  and  in- 
wardly by  philosophers !  The  Caribbeans  are  more  for- 
tunate than  we  are  by  half  ! 

The  inaction  and  constraint  imposed  on  the  limbs  of 

*  Longa  est  vita,  si  plena  est.  Impletur  autem  cum  animus  sibi 
bonum  suum  reddidit,  et  ad  se  potestatem  sui  transtulit.  Quid  ilium 
octoginta  anni  juvant  per  inertiam  exacti  ?  Non  vixit  iste,  sed  in 
vita  moratus  est, ,  .  ,  Actu  illam  metiamur^  non  tempore. — SENECA, 
Ep.  93, 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  U 

a  child  can  but  impede  the  circulation  of  the  blood  and 
other  fluids,  prevent  him  from  growing  strong,  and 
weaken  his  constitution.  In  countries  where  these  ex- 
travagant precautions  are  not  taken  the  men  are  all  tall, 
strong,  and  well-proportioned ;  but  where  children  are 
bound  in  swaddling-clothes,  the  country  swarms  with  the 
hump-backed,  the  lame,  the  knock-kneed,  and  the  sick- 
ly— with  all  sorts  of  patched-up  men.  For  fear  that  the 
body  may  be  deformed  by  free  movements,  we  hasten  to 
deform  it  by  putting  it  in  a  press.  We  would  purposely 
render  it  impotent  in  order  to  prevent  it  from  becoming 
crippled ! 

Could  a  constraint  so  cruel  fail  to  leave  its  effect  on 
the  dispositions  of  children  as  well  as  on  their  physical 
constitution  ?  Their  first  feeling  is  that  of  suffering  and 
pain.  They  find  only  obstacles  to  all  the  movements 
they  have  need  of  making;  more  unfortunate  than  a 
criminal  in  chains,  they  make  useless  efforts,  they  become 
irritated,  they  cry.  Their  first  language,  you  say,  is  a 
tear.  I  can  well  believe  it.  From  the  moment  of  their 
birth  you  cross  their  desires ;  the  first  gifts  they  receive 
from  you  are  chains ;  the  first  attentions  they  experi- 
ence are  torments.  Being  free  in  nothing  save  in  voice, 
why  should  they  not  use  it  to  utter  their  complaints? 
They  cry  because  of  the  wrong  you  do  them.  If  you 
were  thus  pinioned,  your  cries  would  be  louder  than 
theirs. 

Whence  comes  this  unreasonable,  this  unnatural  cus- 
torn  ?  Ever  since  mothers,  despising  their  first  duty,  have 
been  no  longer  willing  to  nourish  their  own  children,  they 
must  be  intrusted  to  hireling  nurses,  who,  thus  finding 
themselves  mothers  to  others'  children  for  whom  the  voice 
of  nature  did  not  plead,  have  felt  no  anxiety  but  to  rid 
themselves  of  their  burdens.  A  free  child  must  have 


12  EMILE. 

ceaseless  care,  but  when  he  is  securely  tied  we  may  toss 
him  into  a  corner  and  pay  no  heed  to  his  cries. 

It  is  asserted  that  if  children  were  allowed  their  free- 
dom they  might  fall  into  bad  postures,  and  so  contract 
movements  that  would  be  unfavorable  to  the  proper  de- 
velopment of  their  limbs.  This  is  one  of  those  vain  con- 
jectures begotten  of  our  false  wisdom,  which  no  actual 
experience  has  ever  confirmed.  Of  that  multitude  of  chil- 
dren who,  among  people  that  are  more  sensible  than  we 
are,  have  been  brought  up  with  limbs  left  in  perfect 
freedom,  not  a  single  one  is  to  be  seen  who  is  maimed 
or  lame.  They  can  not  give  to  their  movements  force 
enough  to  make  them  dangerous;  and  when  they  fall 
into  a  strained  position,  the  pain  they  suffer  at  once  warns 
them  to  change  it. 

Where  there  is  no  mother  there  can  be  no  child. 
Their  duties  are  reciprocal ;  and  if  they  are  badly  fulfilled 
on  one  side,  they  will  be  neglected  on  the  other.  The 
child  should  love  his  mother  before  he  knows  that  this 
is  his  duty.  If  the  voice  of  kin  is  not  strengthened  by 
habit  and  duty,  it  dies  out  in  early  life,  and  the  heart  is 
dead,  so  to  speak,  before  it  is  born.  Thus,  at  the  very 
start,  the  path  of  nature  is  forsaken. 

But  a  woman  may  miss  the  right  way  by  taking  an 
opposite  course  :  when,  instead  of  neglecting  her  motherly 
duties,  she  carries  them  to  an  extreme ;  when  she  makes 
of  her  child  her  idol ;  when  she  augments  and  nourishes 
his  weakness  in  order  to  prevent  him  from  feeling  it ;  and 
when,  through  the  hope  of  rescuing  him  from  the  laws 
of  nature,  she  shields  him  from  painful  experiences,  with- 
out thinking  how,  in  the  attempt  to  preserve  him  for 
the  moment  from  slight  inconveniences,  she  is  laying  up 
in  store  for  him  a  multitude  of  accidents  and  perils,  and 
forgets  what  a  barbarous  precaution  it  is  to  prolong  the 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  13 

weakness  of  children  at  the  expense  of  fatigue  that  must 
be  suffered  in  later  life.  Thetis,  as  the  story  goes,  plunged 
her  son  into  the  waters  of  the  Styx  in  order  to  render  him 
invulnerable.  This  is  a  beautiful  and  instructive  allegory. 
The  cruel  mothers  of  whom  I  speak  proceed  in  a  different 
manner.  By  rearing  their  children  so  delicately,  they  pre- 
pare them  for  suffering ;  they  make  them  susceptible  to 
countless  evils  of  which  they  are  to  be  the  victims  later 
in  life.  Observe  Nature,  and  follow  the  route  which  she 
traces  for  you.  She  is  ever  exciting  children  to  activity ; 
she  hardens  the  constitution  by  trials  of  every  sort ;  she 
teaches  them  at  an  early  hour  what  suffering  and  pain  are. 
Experience  shows  that  there  are  more  deaths  among 
children  delicately  reared  than  among  others.  Provided 
the  strength  of  children  is  not  overtaxed,  there  is  less 
risk  in  using  it  than  in  preventing  its  use.  Then  school 
them  to  the  hardships  which  they  will  one  day  have  to 
endure.  Harden  their  bodies  to  the  changes  of  seasons, 
climates,  and  elements,  as  well  as  to  hunger,  thirst,  and 
fatigue ;  dip  them  in  the  waters  of  the  Styx.  Before  the 
body  has  been  broken  to  habit,  we  may  do  with  it  what- 
ever we  please,  without  danger;  but  when  it  has  once 
received  a  set,  every  change  in  it  becomes  perilous.  A 
child  will  support  changes  that  a  man  could  not  endure. 
The  fibers  of  the  first,  soft  and  flexible,  take  without  effort 
the  bent  that  is  given  them ;  while  those  of  the  man, 
being  harder,  they  no  longer  change,  except  by  violent 
effort,  the  bent  which  they  have  received.  Hence  we  may 
make  a  child  robust  without  endangering  his  life  and  his 
health ;  and  though  this  might  involve  some  risk,  still  we 
need  not  hesitate.  Since  these  are  risks  which  are  insepar- 
able from  human  life,  can  we  do  better  than  to  place  them 
on  that  portion  of  existence  where  they  are  attended  with 
the  least  danger  ? 


14 

A  child  becomes  more  precious  as  he  advances  in  age. 
To  the  value  of  his  person  there  comes  to  be  added  that 
of  the  care  which  he  has  cost ;  and  to  the  loss  of  his  life 
there  is  to  be  added  his  apprehension  of  death.  It  is  then 
especially  of  the  future  that  we  must  think,  while  guard- 
ing his  preservation ;  it  is  against  the  ills  of  youth  that 
we  must  arm  him  before  he  has  come  upon  them ;  for  if 
the  value  of  life  increases  up  to  the  age  that  renders  it 
useful,  what  folly  it  is  to  spare  infancy  some  ills  while 
heaping  them  up  for  the  age  of  reason ! 

Suffering  is  the  lot  of  man  at  every  period  of  life.  The 
very  care  of  his  preservation  is  connected  with  pain. 
Happy  he  if  in  his  infancy  he  knows  only  physical  ills — 
ills  much  less  cruel  and  much  less  painful  than  others, 
and  which  much  more  rarely  than  they  cause  us  to  re- 
nounce life !  One  does  not  kill  himself  from  the  suffer- 
ings of  the  gout ;  and  hardly  anything  but  sufferings  of 
the  soul  produce  despair.  We  pity  the  lot  of  infancy,  and 
it  is  our  own  that  we  should  really  pity.  Our  greatest  ills 
come  to  us  from  ourselves. 

A  child  cries  as  soon  as  born,  and  his  first  years  are 
spent  in  tears.  At  one  time  we  trot  and  caress  him  to 
pacify  him,  and  at  another  we  threaten  and  beat  him  to 
keep  him  quiet.  We  either  do  what  pleases  him,  or  we 
exact  of  him  what  pleases  us ;  we  either  subject  ourselves 
to  his  whims,  or  subject  him  to  ours.  There  is  no  middle 
ground  ;  he  must  either  give  orders  or  receive  them.  And 
so  his  first  ideas  are  those  of  domination  and  servitude. 
Before  knowing  how  to  speak,  he  commands ;  and  before 
knowing  how  to  act,  he  obeys ;  and  sometimes  he  is  pun- 
ished before  he  is  able  to  know  his  faults,  or,  rather,  to 
commit  any.  It  is  thus  that,  at  an  early  hour,  we  pour 
into  his  young  heart  the  passions  that  we  straightway 
impute  to  nature;  and  that,  after  having  taken  the 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  lo 

trouble  to  make  him  bad,  we  complain  of  finding  him 
such. 

Would  you,  then,  have  him  preserve  his  original  form  ? 
Guard  it  from  the  moment  of  the  child's  birth.  As  soon 
as  born  take  possession  of  him,  and  do  not  give  him  up 
until  he  is  a  man.  Save  in  this  way,  you  will  never  suc- 
ceed. As  the  real  nurse  is  the  mother,  the  real  preceptor 
is  the  father.  Let  them  agree  in  the  discharge  of  their 
functions  as  well  as  in  the  system  they  follow,  and  let  the 
child  pass  from  the  hands  of  one  into  the  hands  of  the 
other.  He  will  be  better  educated  by  a  judicious  though 
ignorant  father,  than  by  the  most  skillful  teacher  in  the 
world ;  for  zeal  will  much  better  supply  the  place  of  tal- 
ent than  talent  the  place  of  zeal. 

But  business,  official  cares,  duties,  you  say !  Duties 
indeed  !  the  last,  doubtless,  is  that  of  a  father !  *  Let  us 
not  think  it  strange  that  a  man  whose  wife  disdains  to 
nourish  the  fruit  of  their  union  himself  disdains  to  under- 
take its  education.  There  is  no  more  charming  picture 
than  that  of  family  life ;  but  the  lack  of  one  trait  dis- 
figures all  the  others.  If  the  mother  has  too  little  strength 
to  be  a  nurse,  the  father  will  have  too  much  business  to  be 
a  teacher.  The  children  sent  from  home  and  dispersed  in 

*  When  we  read  in  Plutarch  that  Cato  the  Censor,  who  governed 
Rome  with  so  much  glory,  was  himself  the  teacher  of  his  son  from 
his  very  infancy,  and  with  such  assiduity  that  he  left  everything  to 
be  present  when  the  nurse — that  is,  the  mother — was  dressing  and 
bathing  the  child :  when  we  read  in  Suetonius  that  Augustus,  the 
master  of  the  world  which  he  had  conquered  and  which  he  governed, 
himself  taught  his  grandsons  to  write  and  to  swim,  and  the  elements 
of  the  sciences,  and  that  he  kept  them  constantly  about  him :  we 
can  not  help  laughing  at  the  good  people  of  that  period  who  amused 
themselves  with  such  trifles — too  limited  in  their  capacity,  doubt- 
less, to  be  able  to  grasp  the  important  affairs  of  the  great  men  of 
our  time ! 


16  EMILE. 

boarding-schools,  convents,  and  colleges,  will  carry  other- 
wheres the  love  of  home — or,  rather,  they  will  bring  home 
the  habit  of  being  attached  to  nothing.  Brothers  and 
sisters  will  scarcely  know  one  another.  When  they  are  all 
assembled  in  state,  they  can  be  very  polite  and  formal,  and 
will  treat  each  other  as  strangers.  The  moment  that  in- 
timacy between  parents  ceases,  the  moment  that  family 
intercourse  no  longer  gives  sweetness  to  life,  it  becomes  at 
once  necessary  to  resort  to  lower  pleasures  in  order  to  sup- 
ply what  is  lacking  Where  is  the  man  so  stupid  as  not 
to  see  the  logic  of  all  this  ? 

A  father  who  merely  feeds  and  clothes  the  children  he 
has  begotten  so  far  fulfills  but  a  third  of  his  task.  To  the 
race,  he  owes  men  ;  to  society,  men  of  social  dispositions ; 
and  to  the  state,  citizens.  Every  man  who  can  pay  this 
triple  debt  and  does  not  pay  it,  is  guilty  of  a  crime,  and 
the  more  guilty,  perhaps,  when  the  debt  is  only  half 
paid.  He  who  can  not  fulfill  the  duties  of  a  father  has 
no  right  to  become  such.  Neither  poverty,  nor  busi- 
ness, nor  fear  of  the  world,  can  excuse  him  from  the 
duty  of  supporting  and  educating  his  own  children. 
Reader,  believe  me  when  I  predict  that  whoever  has  a 
heart  and  neglects  such  sacred  duties  will  long  shed  bit- 
ter tears  over  his  mistake,  and  will  never  find  consolation 
for  it.* 

A  teacher !  What  an  exalted  soul  he  should  be  !  In 
truth,  to  form  a  man,  one  must  be  either  a  father  or  more 

*  "  The  course  that  I  had  pursued  with  respect  to  my  children, 
however  reasonable  it  may  have  appeared  to  me,  had  not  always  left 
my  conscience  tranquil.  While  planning  my  Treatise  on  Education, 
I  felt  that  I  had  neglected  duties  from  which  nothing  could  excuse 
me.  My  remorse  finally  became  so  keen  that  it  came  near  forcing 
me  to  make  a  public  avowal  of  my  fault  in  the  beginning  of  the 
fimile." — (LES  CONFESSIONS,  Partie  II,  livre  vii.) 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.         17 

Mian  a  man.  And  yet  this  is  the  service  you  calmly  intrust 
to  mercenaries ! 

Is  it  impossible  to  find  this  rare  mortal?  I  do  not 
know.  In  these  degenerate  times,  who  knows  to  what 
height  of  virtue  a  human  soul  may  yet  ascend?  But 
suppose  we  have  'found  this  prodigy.  It  is  by  considering 
what  he  ought  to  do  that  we  shall  see  what  he  ought  to 
be.  The  first  thing  that  occurs  to  me  is  that  a  father  who 
should  comprehend  the  full  price  of  a  good  tutor  would 
decide  to  do  without  one ;  for  it  would  require  more 
trouble  to  secure  one  than  to  become  one  himself.  Or, 
if  he  desires  to  secure  a  friend,  as  I  have  suggested,  let 
him  educate  his  son  for  becoming  such,  and  Nature  will 
Already  have  done  half  the  work. 

But  what  does  this  rich  man  do,  this  father  who  is  so 
full  of  business,  and  compelled,  as  he  says,  to  abandon 
his  children  ?  He  pays  another  man  to  discharge  those 
duties  which  are  binding  on  himself.  Venal  soul !  do 
you  expect  with  your  money  to  give  your  son  another 
father  ?  Be  not  deceived ;  it  is  not  even  a  master  whom 
you  give  him,  but  a  valet ;  and  presently  he  will  make  of 
your  son  a  second. 

We  hear  much  said  about  the  qualities  of  a  good  tutor. 
The  first  that  I  would  require  of  him — and  this  single  one 
supposes  many  others — is  that  he  should  not  be  a  man  for 
sale.  There  are  employments  so  noble  that  we  can  not 
practice  them  for  money  without  showing  ourselves  un- 
worthy to  practice  them :  such  is  the  pursuit  of  arms,  and 
such  the  office  of  a  teacher.  Who,  then,  shall  educate  my 
child  ?  I  have  already  told  you — yourself.  I  can  not. 
You  can  not,  do  you  say  ?  Then  call  in  a  friend  to  your 
aid.  I  see  no  other  resource. 

Some  one,  of  whom  I  know  nothing  save  his  rank, 
made  me  a  proposition  to  educate  his  son.  Doubtless  he 


18  EMILE. 

did  me  a  great  honor ;  but,  rather  than  complain  of  my 
refusal,  he  ought  to  commend  my  discretion.  Had  I  ac- 
cepted his  offer  and  erred  in  my  method,  the  education 
would  have  been  a  failure.  Had  I  succeeded,  it  would 
have  been  still  worse :  the  son  would  have  renounced  his 
title,  he  would  no  longer  have  desired  to  be  a  prince. 

I  have  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  magnitude  of  a  teach- 
er's  office,  and  too  keen  a  sense  of  my  own  incapacity  for 
it,  ever  to  accept  such  an  employment,  no  matter  whence 
the  offer  may  come ;  and  even  the  plea  of  friendship  would 
be  to  me  but  an  additional  motive  for  refusing  it.  I  fancy 
that,  after  having  read  this  book,  but  few  will  be  tempted 
to  make  me  such  a  proposition ;  and  I  beg  those  who 
might  do  so  no  longer  to  give  themselves  the  useless 
trouble.  I  once  made  a  trial  of  this  employment  which 
sufficed  to  assure  me  that  I  had  no  fitness  for  it ;  *  and 
my  position  would  excuse  me  from  it  even  though  my 
talents  had  rendered  me  capable  of  it.  It  has  seemed  to 
me  that  I  owe  this  public  declaration  to  those  who  appear 
not  to  hold  me  in  sufficient  esteem  to  believe  me  sincere 
and  firm  in  my  resolution. 

I  have  therefore  formed  the  plan  of  providing  myself 
with  an  imaginary  pupil,  and  of  assuming  that  I  have  the 
age,  the  health,  the  knowledge,  and  all  the  talents  suit- 
able for  undertaking  his  education  and  conducting  it  from 
the  moment  of  his  birth  up  to  the  time  when,  having  be- 

*  This  refers  to  Rousseau's  engagement  with  M.  de  Mably  as  tutor 
to  his  children. — (P.)  "  The  mildness  of  my  disposition  would  have 
made  me  a  very  proper  person  to  teach,  had  not  fits  of  anger  mingled 
their  storms  with  my  work.  As  long  as  all  went  well  and  I  saw  my 
plans  and  labors  succeeding,  I  could  not  do  too  much — I  was  an 
angel ,  but  when  things  went  wrong,  I  was  a  devil.  When  my  pupils 
did  not  understand  me,  I  raved ;  and  when  they  showed  signs  of  ugli- 
ness, I  could  have  killed  them." — LES  CONFESSIONS,  part  i,  liv.  vi. 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  19 

come  a  mature  man,  he  will  no  longer  need  any  other 
guide  than  himself.  This  method  seems  to  me  useful  for 
preventing  an  author  who  is  distrustful  of  himself  from 
losing  himself  in  speculation ;  for,  the  moment  he  departs 
from  established  usage,  he  has  only  to  test  his  own  method 
on  his  pupil  and  he  will  at  once  discover,  or  his  reader 
will  discover  for  him,  whether  he  is  following  the  progress 
of  infancy  and  the  course  natural  to  the  human  heart. 

I  will  merely  observe,  contrary  to  the  ordinary  opinion, 
that  the  tutor  of  a  child  ought  to  be  young — just  as  young 
as  a  man  can  be  and  be  wise.  Were  it  possible,  I  would 
have  him  a  child,  so  that  he  might  become  a  companion 
to  his  pupil  and  secure  his  confidence  by  taking  part  in 
his  amusements.  There  are  not  things  enough  in  com- 
mon between  infancy  and  mature  years,  so  that  there 
comes  to  be  formed  at  that  distance  a  really  solid  attach- 
ment. Children  sometimes  flatter  old  people,  but  they 
nevei  love  them.* 

It  is  thought  that  a  tutor  should  already  have  had  the 
training  of  one  pupil.  This  is  requiring  too  much,  for  a 
man  can  have  trained  but  one.  If  two  were  necessary  for 
his  success,  by  what  right  did  he  undertake  the  care  of 
the  first? 

There  is  a  great  difference,  I  assure  you,  between  fol- 
lowing a  young  man  four  years  and  conducting  him 
twenty-five.  You  give  your  son  a  tutor  when  he  is 
already  grown ;  but  I  would  have  him  have  one  before  he 
is  born.  Your  man  can  take  another  pupil  every  four 
years;  but  mine  shall  never  have  but  one.  You  make 

*  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  there  can  be  any  real  sympathy 
between  two  children,  as  Rousseau  seems  to  assume.  Some  disparity 
in  age  is  essential  to  the  rise  of  this  emotion.  We  sympathize  with 
another,  not  because  we  have  experiences  similar  to  his,  but  because 
we  have  had  them.— (P.) 
5 


20  tiMILE. 

a  distinction  oetween  &  preceptor  and  a  tutor,*  which  is 
another  piece  of  folly.  Do  you  distinguish  between  a 
disciple  and  a  pupil  ?  There  is  but  one  science  which  is  to 
be  taught  children,  and  this  is  the  science  of  human  duty. 
This  science  is  one  ;  and,  notwithstanding  what  Xenophon 
has  said  of  the  education  of  the  Persians,  it  is  not  to  be 
divided.  And  I  would  call  the  master  of  this  science  a 
tutor  rather  than  a  preceptor,  because  we  are  less  con- 
cerned with  the  instruction  of  our  pupil  than  with  his 
guidance.  The  master  ought  not  to  give  precepts,  but 
should  cause  his  pupil  to  find  them. 

The  poor  man  has  no  need  of  an  education,  for  his 
condition  in  life  forces  one  upon  him,  and  he  could  re- 
ceive no  other,  f  On  the  contrary,  the  education  which 
the  rich  man  receives  from  his  station  is  the  one  which 
befits  him  the  least,  both  with  respect  to  himself  and  to 
society.  Moreover,  the  education  of  nature  ought  to 
make  a  man  fit  for  all  the  conditions  of  human  life. 
Now,  it  is  less  reasonable  to  educate  a  poor  man  for 
becoming  rich,  than  to  educate  a  rich, man  for  becoming 
poor ;  for,  in  proportion  to  the  number  of  these  two  classes, 
there  are  more  men  who  are  ruined  than  there  are  who 
rise  from  poverty  to  wealth.  Let  us,  therefore,  choose  our 
pupil  from  among  the  wealthy,  for  we  shall  at  least  be 
sure  of  having  given  one  more  man  to  society,  while  a 
poor  man  may  make  a  man  of  himself. 

For  the  same  reason  I  shall  not  be  offended  if  Emile 

*  Precepteur  et  gouverneur. ' 

f  At  this  day  it  is  not  necessary  to  challenge  such  a  statement 
as  this,  the  basis  of  our  public-school  policy  being  the  right  of  every 
child,  regardless  of  condition  in  life,  to  participate  in  the  blessings 
of  education.  Education  is  another  name  for  freedom,  and  free- 
dom is  a  right  from  which  no  man,  not  a  criminal,  should  be  de- 
barred.— (P.) 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.         21 

is  a  child  of  rank,  for  there  will  be  at  least  one  victim 
rescued  from  prejudice. 

Emile  is  an  orphan.  It  is  not  important  that  he  have 
a  father  and  mother.  Charged  with  their  duties,  I  suc- 
ceed to  all  their  rights.  He  ought  to  honor  his  parent.*, 
but  he  owes  obedience  to  no  one  but  me.  This  is  the 
first,  or  rather  the  only,  condition  that  I  require. 

To  this  I  should  add  what  is  but  a  corollary  to  it,  that 
we  shall  never  be  separated  from  each  other  save  by  our 
own  consent.  This  clause  is  essential,  and  I  would  have 
the  pupil  and  his  tutor  regard  themselves  so  inseparable 
that  their  destiny  in  life  should  always  be  a  subject  of 
common  interest  between  them.  The  moment  they  dis- 
cover their  separation  in  the  distance,  the  instant  they 
foresee  the  moment  which  is  to  render  them  strangers  to 
each  other,  they  are  already  so  in  effect ;  each  one  lays  his 
plan  for  himself ;  and  both,  thinking  of  the  time  when 
they  shall  no  longer  be  together,  maintain  their  associa- 
tion with  reluctance.  The  pupil  regards  his  master  only 
as  the  overseer  and  scourge  of  infancy ;  and  the  master 
regards  his  pupil  only  as  a  heavy  burden  from  which  he 
longs  to  be  released.  With  one  accord  they  long  for  the 
moment  when  they  may  be  delivered  from  each  other ; 
and  as  there  is  never  any  real  attachment  between  them, 
one  has  but  little  vigilance  and  the  other  but  little  do- 
cility. 

In  the  family  which  God  gives  him,  a  father  has  no 
choice  and  ought  to  have  no  preference.  All  his  children 
are  equally  his  children,  and  he  owes  them  all  the  same 
care  and  the  same  tenderness.  "Whether  crippled  or  not, 
whether  sickly  or  robust,  each  of  them  is  a  trust  of  which 
he  must  render  an  account  to  him  from  whom  he  has  re- 
ceived it ;  and  marriage  is  a  contract  made  with  Nature,  as 
well  as  between  the  husband  and  wife. 


22  SMILE. 

But  whoever  takes  upon  himself  a  duty  which  Nature 
has  not  imposed  on  him,  should  provide  himself  in  advance 
with  the  means  for  fulfilling  it ;  otherwise  he  makes  him  • 
self  accountable  for  what  he  will  not  be  able  to  accomplish. 
He  who  charges  himself  with  an  infirm  and  sickly  pupil, 
exchanges  his  function  of  tutor  for  that  of  a  nurse ;  in 
caring  for  a  useless  life,  he  loses  the  time  which  was  des- 
tined to  the  augmentation  of  its  value ;  and  he  runs  the 
risk  of  seeing  a  weeping  mother  some  day  reproach  him 
with  the  death  of  a  son  whom  he  has  long  kept  alive  for 
her. 

I  would  not  assume  charge  of  a  sickly  and  debilitated 
child,  were  he  to  live  for  eighty  years.  I  do  not  want  a 
pupil  always  useless  to  himself  and  to  others,  whose  only 
occupation  is  to  keep  himself  alive,  and  whose  body  is  a 
hindrance  to  the  education  of  the  soul.  What  would  I 
accomplish  by  lavishing  my  care  upon  him  to  no  purpose, 
except  to  double  the  loss  of  society  by  taking  from  it  two 
men  instead  of  one?  If  some  one  else  would  take  my 
place  and  devote  himself  to  this  invalid,  I  have  not  the 
least  objection,  and  would  approve  his  charity ;  but  my 
own  talent  does  not  run  in  this  line.  I  can  not  teach  one 
to  live  whose  only  thought  is  to  keep  himself  from  dying. 

The  body  must  needs  be  vigorous  in  order  to  obey  the 
soul :  a  good  servant  ought  to  be  robust.  I  know  that 
intemperance  excites  the  passions,  and  also  that  in  the 
long  run  it  debilitates  the  body ;  mortification  and  fast- 
ing produce  the  same  effect  from  opposite  causes.  The 
weaker  the  body,  the  more  it  commands ;  the  stronger  it 
is,  the  better  it  obeys.  All  the  sensual  passions  find  lodg- 
ment in  effeminate  bodies ;  and  the  less  they  are  satisfied 
the  more  irritable  they  become. 

A  debilitated  body  enfeebles  the  soul.  Hence  arises 
the  sway  of  medicine — an  art  more  pernicious  to  men 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  23 

than  all  the  ills  which  it  pretends  to  cure.  For  my  part, 
I  do  not  know  of  what  malady  the  doctors  cure  us,  but  I 
do  know  that  they  give  us  some  which  are  very  fatal — 
cowardice,  pusillanimity,  credulity,  and  fear  of  death.  If 
they  cure  the  body,  they  destroy  courage.  Of  what  con- 
sequence is  it  to  us  that  they  make  dead  bodies  walk? 
What  we  need  is  men,  and  we  do  not  see  them  coming 
from  their  hands. 

Medicine  is  in  fashion  with  us,  and  it  ought  to  be.  It 
is  the  amusement  of  indolent  and  unemployed  people, 
who,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  their  time,  spend  it  in 
keeping  themselves  alive.  If  they  had  had  the  misfortune 
to  be  immortal,  they  would  be  the  most  wretched  of 
creatures ;  for  life,  which  they  would  never  have  any  fear 
of  losing,  would  have  no  value  for  them.  These  people 
need  physicians  to  threaten  in  order  to  natter  them,  and 
each  day  to  give  them  the  only  pleasure  of  which  they  are 
susceptible,  that  of  not  being  dead. 

If  you  would  find  men  who  are  truly  courageous,  look 
for  them  in  places  where  there  are  no  doctors,  where  peo- 
ple are  ignorant  of  the  consequences  of  disease,  and  where 
they  hardly  think  of  death.  Naturally,  man  can  suffer 
with  constancy  and  die  in  peace.  It  is  the  doctors  with 
their  prescriptions,  the  philosophers  with  their  precepts, 
and  the  priests  with  their  exhortations,  who  abase  his 
heart  and  make  him  unlearn  how  to  die. 

Then  give  me  a  pupil  who  needs  none  of  these  gentry, 
or  I  will  not  take  him.  I  do  not  wish  others  to  spoil  my 
work ;  I  will  educate  him  aloneror  will  have  nothing  to 
do  with  him.  The  wise  Locke,  who  had  spent  a  part  of 
his  life  in  the  study  of  medicine,  strongly  recommends 
that  children  should  never  be  doctored,  neither  by  way  of 
precaution  nor  for  trifling  ailments.  I  shall  go  further, 
and  I  declare  that,  never  calling  physicians  for  myself,  I 


94  EMILE. 

f 

snaa  never  call  them  for  my  Emile  unless  his  life  is  in 
evident  danger ;  for  then  they  can  do  nothing  worse  thac 
kill  him. 

The  only  useful  part  of  medicine  is  hygiene ;  and  hy- 
giene is  less  a  science  than  a  virtue.  Temperance  and 
labor  are  the  two  real  physicians  of  man ;  labor  sharpens 
his  appetite,  and  temperance  prevents  him  from  abusing  it. 

Men  were  not  made  to  be  massed  together  in  herds,  but 
to  be  scattered  over  the  earth  which  they  are  to  cultivate. 
The  more  they  herd  together  the  more  they  corrupt  one 
another.  Infirmities  of  the  body,  as  well  as  evils  of  the 
soul,  are  the  inevitable  effect  of  this  over-accumulation. 
Man  is  of  all  animals  the  one  that  can  least  support  life 
in  flocks ;  men  herded  together  like  sheep  would  all  perish 
within  a  little  time.  The  breath  of  man  is  fatal  to  his 
fellows ;  this  is  no  less  true  literally  than  figuratively. 

Cities  are  the  graves  of  the  human  species.  After  a 
few  generations,  races  perish  or  degenerate ;  they  must  be 
renewed,  and  this  regeneration  is  always  supplied  by  the 
country.  Send  your  children  away,  therefore,  so  that  they 
may  renew  themselves,  so  to  speak,  and  regain,  amid  the 
fields,  the  vigor  they  have  lost  in  the  unwholesome  air  of 
places  too  thickly  peopled. 

Children  should  be  bathed  frequently ;  and  in  propor- 
tion as  they  gain  strength  the  warmth  of  the  water  may 
gradually  be  diminished,  until,  finally,  winter  and  summer, 
they  may  be  bathed  in  cold  water,  and  even  in  water  at 
the  point  of  freezing.  As,  in  order  not  to  expose  their 
health,  this  lowering  of  temperature  must  be  slow,  suc- 
cessive, and  insensible,  a  thermometer  may  be  employed 
for  the  purpose  of  exact  measurement. 

This  use  of  the  bath,  once  established,  ought  not  to  be 
interrupted,  but  should  be  maintained  throughout  life.  I 
value  the  bath  not  merely  in  its  bearing  on  cleanliness  and 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  25 

actual  health,  but  also  as  a  salutary  precaution  for  render- 
ing the  tissues  and  fibers  flexible,  and  for  making  them 
adapt  themselves  without  effort  and  risk  to  different  de- 
grees of  heat  and  cold.  For  this  purpose,  while  the  body 
is  growing,  I  would  have  people  gradually  accustom  them- 
selves to  bathe,  sometimes  in  water  of  all  degrees  of 
warmth,  and  often  in  waters  of  all  possible  degrees  of  cold. 
Thus,  after  having  accustomed  themselves  to  support  the 
different  temperatures  of  water,  which,  being  a  dense 
fluid,  touches  them  at  more  points  and  affects  them  more 
sensibly,  they  would  become  almost  insensible  to  atmos- 
pheric changes. 

Do  not  suffer  the  child  to  be  restrained  by  caps,  bands, 
and  swaddling-clothes ;  but  let  him  have  gowns  flowing  and 
loose,  and  which  leave  all  his  limbs  at  liberty,  not  so  heavy 
as  to  hinder  his  movements,  nor  so  warm  as  to  prevent  him 
from  feeling  the  impression  of  the  air.  By  keeping  them 
dressed  and  within-doors,  children  in  cities  are  suffocated. 
Those  who  have  them  in  charge  have  yet  to  learn  that 
cold  air,  far  from  doing  them  harm,  invigorates  them, 
and  that  warm  air  enfeebles  them,  makes  them  feverish, 
and  kills  them.  Place  the  child  in  a  wide  cradle,  well 
cushioned,  where  he  can  move  at  his  ease  and  without 
danger.  When  he  begins  to  grow  strong,  let  him  creep 
about  the  room  and  develop  his  little  limbs,  by  giving 
them  exercise ;  you  will  see  him  gain  in  strength  day  by 
day.  Compare  him  with  a  child  of  the  same  age  who  has 
been  tightly  confined  in  swaddling-clothes,  and  you  will 
be  astonished  at  the  difference  in  their  progress. 

I  repeat  it,  the  education  of  man  begins  at  his  birth. 
Before  he  can  speak,  before  he  can  understand,  he  is 
already  instructing  himself.  Experience  precedes  lessons ; 
the  moment  he  knows  his  nurse  he  has  already  acquired 
much  knowledge.  We  should  be  surprised  at  the  knowl- 


26  EMILE. 

edge  possessed  by  the  most  boorish  man,  if  we  followed 
his  progress  from  the  moment  of  birth  to  the  present 
hour  of  his  life.  If  we  were  to  divide  all  human  knowl- 
edge into  two  parts,  one  common  to  all  men  and  the 
other  restricted  to  scholars,  the  last  would  be  very  small 
compared  with  the  first.  But  we  scarcely  think  of  general 
acquisitions,  because  they  are  made  without  our  notice  and 
even  before  the  age  of  reason ;  whereas  science  brings 
itself  into  notice  only  by  the  distinctions  which  it  creates : 
just  as,  in  algebraic  equations,  quantities  in  common  are 
not  taken  into  account. 

The  only  habit  which  the  child  should  be  allowed  to 
form  is  to  contract  no  habit  whatever.*  Let  him  not  be 
carried  on  one  arm  more  than  on  another ;  let  him  not 
be  accustomed  to  hold  out  one  hand  more  than  the  other, 
nor  to  use  it  more  often ;  nor  to  desire  to  eat,  to  sleep,  or 
to  be  awake  at  the  same  hours ;  nor  to  be  unable  to  stay 
alone  by  day  or  by  night.  Make  a  preparation  long  in 
advance  for  the  exercise  of  his  liberty  and  the  use  of  his 
strength  by  allowing  his  body  to  have  its  natural  habits, 
by  putting  him  in  a  condition  to  be  always  master  of  him- 
self, and  in  everything  to  do  his  own  will  the  moment  he 
has  one. 

*  This  is  one  instance  out  of  very  many  which  illustrates  Rous- 
seau's rhetorical  style.  He  seemed  to  fear  that  the  exact  statement 
of  a  truth  might  not  affect  the  dull  understandings  of  his  readers, 
and  so  he  resorts  to  the  story-teller's  trick  of  exaggeration.  Reform- 
ers count  on  the  dullness  or  the  inertia  of  their  followers,  and  make 
a  considerable  margin  between  what  they  require  and  what  they  ex- 
pect. There  is,  doubtless,  a  truth  at  the  bottom  of  this  statement. 
Habit  prevents  versatility,  and  so  is  opposed  to  growth.  It  is 
easier  to  follow  an  old  route,  though  a  bad  one,  than  to  strike  out  a 
new  and  better  one.  During  the  formative  or  growing  period,  fixed 
habits  are  an  obstruction ;  but  in  the  end,  the  half  of  education  is 
habit.— (P.) 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  27 

As  soon  as  the  child  begins  to  distinguish  objects,  it  is 
important  that  a  choice  should  be  made  in  those  which 
are  presented  to  him.  Naturally,  man  is  interested  in  all 
objects  which  are  new.  He  has  such  a  sense  of  his  feeble- 
ness that  he  fears  whatever  is  unknown  to  him ;  and  the 
habit  of  seeing  new  objects  without  being  injured  by  them 
destroys  this  fear.  Children  brought  up  in  nicely  kept 
houses  where  spiders  are  not  tolerated,  are  afraid  of  spi- 
ders, and  in  many  cases  this  fear  clings  to  them  when 
they  have  become  grown.  I  have  never  seen  peasants, 
whether  man,  woman,  or  child,  who  were  afraid  of  spiders. 

Why,  then,  should  not  the  education  of  a  child  begin 
before  he  speaks  and  understands,  since  a  mere  choice  in 
the  objects  presented  to  him  is  sufficient  to  render  him 
timid  or  courageous?  I  would  have  him  accustomed  to 
see  new  objects,  such  as  ugly,  disgusting,  or  nondescript 
animals,  but  little  by  little,  or  at  a  distance,  till  he  be- 
comes accustomed  to  them,  and  till,  from  having  seen 
them  handled  by  others,  he  finally  comes  to  handle  them 
himself.  If,  during  his  infancy,  he  has  seen  toads,  snakes, 
and  crabs,  without  being  frightened,  he  will  see  without 
horror,  when  grown,  any  animal  whatever.  Objects  cease 
to  be  frightful  to  him  who  sees  them  every  day. 

All  children  are  afraid  of  masks.  I  begin  by  showing 
Emile  a  mask  of  a  pleasing  appearance,  and  presently  some 
one  puts  it  on  before  him.  Thereupon  I  begin  to  laugh, 
and,  as  everybody  joins  in  the  laugh,  the  child  laughs 
as  the  others  do.  Gradually  I  accustom  him  to  masks 
that  are  less  pleasing,  and  finally  to  faces  that  are  hideous. 
If  I  have  managed  my  gradation  skillfully,  far  from  being 
frightened  at  the  last  mask,  he  will  laugh  at  it  as  at  the 
first  one.  After  this  I  have  no  fear  that  he  will  be  fright- 
ened at  masks. 

When,  in  the  farewell  scene  between  Andromache  and 


28 

Hector,  the  little  Astyanax,  frightened  at  the  plumes  which 
waved  from  his  father's  helmet,  does  not  recognize  him, 
but,  crying,  clings  to  the  breast  of  his  nurse  and  draws 
from  his  mother  a  smile  mingled  with  tears,  what  is 
needed  in  order  to  cure  him  of  this  fright?  Precisely 
what  Hector  does :  throw  the  helmet  on  the  ground  and 
then  kiss  the  child.  In  a  calmer  moment  one  would  not 
stop  at  that  point,  but  would  take  up  the  helmet,  play 
with  its  plumes,  and  cause  the  child  to  handle  them. 
Finally,  the  nurse  would  take  the  helmet,  and  put  it  on  her 
own  head  while  laughing — if,  indeed,  a  woman's  hand 
might  dare  to  touch  the  arms  of  Hector. 

If  Emile  is  to  be  accustomed  to  the  noise  of  fire-arms, 
I  first  burn  a  wad  in  a  pistol.  This  sudden  and  moment- 
ary flash,  this  sort  of  lightning,  pleases  him,  and  I  repeat 
the  same  thing  with  more  powder.  Little  by  little  I  load 
the  pistol  with  a  small  charge  without  a  wad  ;  then  I  in- 
crease the  charge,  and,  finally,  I  accustom  him  to  the  dis- 
charge of  a  gun,  to  bombs,  to  cannons,  and  to  the  most 
frightful  explosions. 

The  discomfort  caused  by  needs  is  expressed  by  signs, 
when  the  aid  of  others  is  necessary  in  order  to  provide  for 
them.  Hence  the  cries  of  children.  They  shed  many 
tears,  and  this  is  as  it  should  be.  Since  all  their  sensa- 
tions are  affective,  children  enjoy  them  in  silence  when 
they  are  agreeable,  but  when  they  are  painful  they  make 
them  known  by  their  language  and  demand  relief.  Now, 
as  long  as  they  are  awake  they  can  hardly  rest  in  a  state 
of  indifference ;  they  either  sleep,  or  are  affected  by  their 
sensations. 

When  a  child  weeps  he  is  in  a  state  of  discomfort ;  he 
has  some  need  which  he  can  not  satisfy.  We  look  about 
in  search  of  this  need,  and  when  we  have  found  it  we 
provide  for  it.  When  we  do  not  find  it,  or  when  we  can 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  29 

not  provide  for  it,  the  tears  continue  to  flow  and  we  are 
importuned  by  them.  We  caress  the  child  to  keep  him 
still,  and  we  rock  him  or  sing  to  him  to  put  him  to  sleep. 
If  he  is  obstinate,  we  become  impatient  and  threaten 
him.  Brutal  nurses  sometimes  strike  him.  Strange  les- 
sons these  for  one  who  is  just  beginning  to  live ! 

This  disposition  of  children  to  outbursts  of  temper,  to 
spite,  and  to  anger,  requires  the  nicest  management. 
Boerhaave  is  of  the  opinion  that  the  most  of  their  ail- 
ments are  of  a  convulsive  type,  because,  the  head  being 
proportionally  larger  than  that  of  the  adult,  and  the 
nervous  system  more  extended,  the  nervous  tract  is  more 
susceptible  of  irritation.  Use  the  utmost  care  to  keep 
them  out  of  the  reach  of  servants  who  annoy  them,  irri- 
tate them,  and  try  their  patience;  they  are  a  hundred 
times  more  dangerous  to  them,  and  more  likely  to  do  them 
harm,  than  the  bad  effects  of  air  and  climate.  So  long  as 
children  find  resistance  only  in  things,  and  never  in  wills, 
they  will  become  neither  rebellious  nor  choleric,  and  will 
the  better  keep  themselves  in  a  state  of  health.*  Here  is 
one  of  the  reasons  why  children  of  the  common  people, 
freer  and  more  independent,  are  generally  less  infirm,  less 
delicate,  and  more  robust  than  those  whom  we  profess  to 
bring  up  more  wisely  by  a  system  of  ceaseless  restraints ; 
but  we  must  always  recollect  that  there  is  a  very  great 

*  So  far  is  this  from  being  true,  that  children  very  readily  ascribe 
will  and  intent  to  things,  and  will  punish  inert  objects  that  have 
hurt  them.  This  doctrine  of  the  beneficent  discipline  of  things,  as 
distinguished  from  the  discipline  exercised  by  the  human  will,  is 
one  of  Rousseau's  favorite  themes,  and  forms  the  groundwork  of  Mr. 
Spencer's  chapter  on  Moral  Education.  As  human  wills  must  be  en- 
countered in  actual  life,  as  they  form  an  essential  part  of  our  en- 
vironment, the  child  may  very  properly  be  made  to  count  with 
them.— (P.) 


30  EMILE. 

difference  between  obeying  them  and  not  exciting  their 
opposition. 

The  first  tears  of  children  are  prayers,  and  unless  we 
are  on  our  guard  they  soon  become  orders.  Children  be- 
gin by  being  assisted,  but  end  by  being  served.  Thus 
out  of  their  very  weakness,  whence  proceeds  at  first  the 
feeling  of  their  dependence,  there  presently  springs  the 
idea  of  empire  and  domination ;  but  this  idea  being  ex- 
cited not  so  much  by  their  needs  as  by  our  services, 
there  begin  to  appear,  at  this  point,  the  moral  effects 
whose  immediate  cause  is -not  in  nature;  and  already  we 
begin  to  see  why,  in  this  early  period  of  life,  it  is  impor- 
tant to  discern  the  secret  intention  which  dictates  the 
gesture  or  the  cry. 

When  the  child  makes  the  effort  and  reaches  out  his 
hand  without  saying  anything,  he  expects  to  reach  the 
object  because  he  does  not  make  a  proper  estimate  of  its 
distance — he  has  made  a  mistake ;  but  when  he  complains 
and  cries  while  reaching  out  his  hand,  he  then  no  longer 
makes  a  mistake  as  to  the  distance,  but  is  either  com- 
manding the  object  to  come  to  him,  or  is  commanding 
you  to  bring  him  the  object.  In  the  first  case,  carry  him 
to  the  object  slowly,  stopping  at  short  intervals ;  in  the 
second,  give  no  sign  whatever  of  hearing  him ;  the  louder 
he  cries  the  less  you  should  listen  to  him.  It  is  important 
to  accustom  him  at  an  early  period  neither  to  command 
men,  for  he  is  not  their  master,  nor  things,  for  they  do 
not  hear  him.  Thus,  when  a  child  desires  something 
which  he  sees  or  which  you  wish  to  give  him,  it  is  much 
better  to  carry  him  -to  the  object  than  to  bring  this  object 
to  him.  He  draws  from  this  procedure  a  conclusion 
suitable  to  his  age,  and  one  which  can  be  suggested  to 
him  in  no  other  way. 

The  Abbe  de  Saint  Pierre  called  men  large  children ; 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  31 

conversely,  we  might  call  children  little  men.  These 
propositions  have  their  truth  as  maxims;  but  as  prin- 
ciples they  have  need  of  explanation.  When  Hobbes 
called  a  rogue  a  robust  child,  he  said  a  thing  absolutely 
contradictory.  All  wickedness  comes  from  weakness.  A 
child  is  bad  only  because  he  is  weak ;  make  him  strong, 
and  he  will  be  good.  He  who  can  do  everything  does 
nothing  bad.*  Of  all  the  attributes  of  the  omnipotent 
Divinity,  goodness  is  the  one  which  we  can  spare  from  his 
conception  with  the  greatest  difficulty.  All  peoples  who 
have  recognized  two  principles  have  always  regarded  the 
evil  as  inferior  to  the  good ;  otherwise  they  would  have 
made  an  absurd  supposition. 

Reason  alone  teaches  us  to  know  good  and  evil.  The 
conscience,  which  makes  us  love  the  one  and  hate  the 
other,  although  independent  of  the  reason,  can  not  be 
developed  without  it.  Before  the  age  of  reason  we  do 
good  and  evil  without  knowing  it ;  and  there  is  no  mo- 
rality in  our  actions,  although  there  sometimes  may  be 
in  the  feeling  we  have  from  the  actions  of  others  as  they 
relate  to  us.  A  child  wishes  to  disarrange  whatever  he 
sees;  he  breaks  and  injures  whatever  he  can  reach;  he 
seizes  a  bird  as  he  would  seize  a  stone,  and  strangles  it 
without  knowing  what  he  does. 

Why  is  this?  At  first  sight  philosophy  goes  on  to 
account  for  it  by  natural  vices.  Pride,  the  spirit  of  dom- 
ination, self-love,  the  wickedness  of  man,  and,  it  might 
be  added,  the  sense  of  his  weakness,  make  the  child  eager 
to  do  feats  of  strength,  and  to  prove  to  himself  his  own 
power.  But  see  this  infirm  and  broken  old  man,  brought 
back  by  the  cycle  of  human  life  to  the  feebleness  of  in- 
fancy. He  not  only  remains  immobile  and  peaceable,  but 

*  Nero  and  Charles  V,  for  example !— (P.) 


32  EMILE. 

would  have  everything  about  him  remain  so ;  the  least 
change  troubles  and  disquiets  him,  and  he  would  see  the 
reign  of  universal  calm.  If  the  original  cause  were  not 
altered,  how  could  the  same  impotence,  connected  with 
the  same  passions,  produce  such  different  effects  in  the 
two  ages  ?  And  where  can  we  look  for  this  difference  in 
causes,  save  in  the  physical  condition  of  the  two  individu- 
als ?  The  active  principle,  common  to  both,  is  in  a  state 
of  development  in  one  and  in  a  state  of  extinction  in 
the  other ;  one  is  in  a  state  of  formation,  and  the  other  in 
a  state  of  decay ;  one  is  tending  to  life  and  the  other  to 
death.  The  decaying  activity  is  concentrated  in  the  heart 
of  the  old  man ;  in  that  of  the  child  this  activity  is  super- 
abundant and  extends  itself  outward ;  he  is  conscious  of 
life  enough,  so  to  speak,  to  animate  his  whole  environ- 
ment. Whether  he  makes  or  unmakes  matters  not;  it 
suffices  that  he  changes  the  state  of  things,  and  every 
change  is  an  action.  Though  he  seems  to  have  a  greater 
inclination  to  destroy,  this  is  not  through  badness.  The 
activity  which  forms  is  always  slow ;  and  as  that  which 
destroys  is  more  rapid,  it  is  better  adapted  to  his  vi- 
vacity. 

At  the  same  time  that  the  Author  of  Nature  gives  to 
children  this  active  principle,  he  takes  care  that  it  shall 
do  but  little  harm,  by  giving  them  but  little  strength  to 
indulge  themselves  in  it ;  but  as  soon  as  they  come  to  con- 
sider the  people  who  surround  them  as  instruments  which 
they  can  employ,  they  make  use  of  them  to  follow  their 
inclinations,  and  to  supplement  their  own  feebleness. 
This  is  how  they  become  troublesome,  tyrannical,  imperi- 
ous, depraved,  unconquerable ;  a  progress  which  does  not 
come  from  a  natural  spirit  of  domination,  but  which 
gives  them  this  spirit ;  for  it  does  not  require  a  long  ex- 
perience to  feel  how  agreeable  it  is  to  act  through  the 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  $$ 

hands  of  others,  and  to  need  only  to  set  the  tongue  a-going 
in  order  to  set  the  universe  in  motion. 

This  principle  once  known,  we  see  clearly  the  point  at 
which  we  abandon  the  order  of  nature.  We  see  what 
must  be  done  in  order  to  maintain  ourselves  in  it. 

MAXIMS. 

1.  Far  from  having  superfluous  strength,  children  do 
not  have  enough  for  all  the  demands  that  Nature  makes 
on  them.     AVe  must  therefore  grant  them  the  use  of  all 
the  strength  which  Nature  gives  them  and  of  which  they 
can  not  make  a  misuse. 

2.  "We  must  aid  them,  and  supply  whatever  they  lack 
either  in  the  way  of  intelligence,  or  in  the  way  of  strength, 
in  whatever  concerns  their  physical  need. 

3.  In  the  aid  which  we  give  them,  we  must  limit  our- 
selves exclusively  to  the  actually  useful,  without  grant- 
ing anything  to  caprice  or  to  unreasonable  desires;  for 
caprice  will  not  torment  them   if  we  have  not  called 
it  into  being,  provided  it  does  not  have  its  origin  in 
nature. 

4.  We  must  carefully  study  their  language  and  their 
signs,  to  the  end  that,  at  an  age  when  they  do  not  know 
how  to  dissemble,  we  may  distinguish  in  their  desires 
what  comes  immediately  from  nature   and  what  from 
opinion. 

The  spirit  of  these  rules-  is  to  grant  to  children  more 
real  liberty  and  less  domination,  to  leave  them  more  to 
do  on  their  own  account,  and  to  exact  less  from  others. 
Thus,  early  accustoming  themselves  to  limit  their  desires 
to  their  powers,  they  will  have  but  little  sense  of  the  pri- 
vation of  what  is  not  within  their  power. 

Here,  then,  is  a  new  and  very  important  reason  for 
leaving  the  body  and  the  limbs  of  children  absolutely 


34 

free,  with  the  single  precaution  of  shielding  them  from 
the  danger  of  falls,  and  of  keeping  out  of  their  hands 
whatever  may  injure  them. 

Infallibly,  a  child  whose  body  and  limbs  are  free  will 
cry  less  than  one  who  is  bound  up  in  swaddling-clothes. 
He  who  experiences  only  physical  needs  weeps  only  when 
he  suffers,  and  this  is  a  very  decided  advantage ;  for  then 
we  know  to  a  certainty  when  he  needs  help,  and  we 
ought  not  to  lose  a  moment  in  giving  it  to  him,  if  it  be 
possible.  But  if  you  can  not  help  him,  keep  quiet,  and  do 
not  pet  him  in  order  to  soothe  him.  Your  caresses  will 
not  cure  his  colic  ;  but  he  will  recollect  what  he  must  do 
in  order  to  be  petted ;  and  if  he  once  learns  that  he  can 
interest  you  in  his  case  at  his  own  pleasure,  he  has  be- 
come your  master,  and  all  is  lost. 

Less  opposed  in  their  movements,  children  will  weep 
less;  less  importuned  by  their  tears,  we  shall  be  less 
troubled  to  keep  them  still ;  threatened  or  petted  less 
often,  they  will  be  less  timid  or  less  willful,  and  the 
better  remain  in  their  natural  condition.'  It  is  less  by 
letting  children  cry,  than  by  our  efforts  to  keep  them  still, 
that  we  cause  them  to  contract  ruptures ;  and  my  proof 
of  this  is  that  the  children  who  are  the  most  neglected 
are  much  less  subject  to  them  than  others.  I  am  very 
far  from  wishing  that  on  this  account  they  should  be 
neglected ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  important  that  we  an- 
ticipate their  needs,  and  that  we  do  not  wait  to  be  ap- 
prised of  them  by  their  cries.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
would  not  have  the  care  we  bestow  on  them  misunder- 
stood. Why  should  they  not  resort  to  tears  when  they 
see  that  they  are  available  to  secure  so  many  things? 
When  taught  the  price  put  on  their  silence,  they  take 
good  care  not  to  be  prodigal  of  it.  They  finally  make  it 
so  valuable  that  we  can  no  longer  purchase  it ;  and  it  is 


INFANCY— GENERAL   PRINCIPLES.  35 

then  that,  by  reason  of  weeping  without  success,  they  are 
exhausted  by  their  efforts  and  become  quiet. 

The  long  crying-spells  of  a  child  who  is  neither  band- 
aged nor  ill,  and  who  is  left  in  need  of  nothing,  are  but 
the  cries  of  habit  or  of  obstinacy.  They  are  not  the  work 
of  Nature,  but  of  the  nurse,  who,  not  being  able  to  endure 
the  trouble  caused  by  them,  multiplies  the  difficulty,  with- 
out thinking  that,  by  causing  the  child  to  keep  quiet  to- 
day, she  encourages  him  to  cry  the  more  to-morrow. 

The  only  way  to  cure  or  to  prevent  this  habit  is  to  pay 
no  attention  to  it.  No  one  likes  to  take  useless  trouble 
— not  even  children.  They  are  obstinate  in  their  under- 
takings ;  but  if  your  firmness  is  greater  than  their  obsti- 
nacy, they  are  beaten,  and  will  not  try  the  contest  again. 
It  is  in  this  way  that  they  are  taught  to  spare  their  tears, 
and  are  accustomed  to  shed  them  only  when  pain  forces 
them  to  cry. 

Besides,  when  they  cry  through  caprice  or  obstinacy, 
a  sure  way  to  prevent  them  from  continuing  is  to  divert 
their  attention  by  some  agreeable  or  striking  object,  which 
makes  them  forget  that  they  wish  to  cry.  Most  nurses 
excel  in  this  art,  and,  well  managed,  it  is  very  useful ;  but 
it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  the  child  does  not  no- 
tice the  intention  to  divert  him,  and  that  he  amuse  him- 
self without  suspecting  that  we  are  thinking  of  him ;  but 
on  this  point  all  nurses  are  unskillful. 

We  no  longer  know  how  to  be  simple  in  anything,  not 
even  in  our  dealings  with  children.  Gold  or  silver  bells, 
coral,  elaborate  crystals,  toys  of  all  kinds  and  prices — 
what  useless  and  pernicious  furniture  !  Nothing  of  all 
this.  No  bells,  no  toys.  Little  branches  with  their  fruits 
and  flowers,  a  poppy -head  in  which  the  seeds  are  heard  to 
rattle,  a  stick  of  licorice  which  he  can  suck  and  chew,  will 
amuse  him  just  as  much  as  these  gorgeous  trinkets,  and 

6 


36 

will  not  have  the  disadvantage  of  accustoming  him  to 
luxury  from  the  day  of  his  birth. 

Children  hear  spoken  language  from  their  birth ;  we 
speak  to  them  not  only  before  they  comprehend  what  is 
said  to  them,  but  before  they  can  reproduce  the  tones 
which  they  hear.  Their  organs  of  speech,  still  torpid, 
adapt  themselves  only  little  by  little  to  the  imitations  of 
the  sounds  which  are  addressed  to  them ;  and  it  is  not 
even  certain  that  these  sounds  are  at  first  carried  to  their 
ears  as  distinctly  as  to  our  own.  I  do  not  disapprove  of 
the  nurse's  amusing  the  child  with  songs,  and  very  cheer- 
ful and  varied  accents ;  but  I  do  disapprove  of  her  inces- 
santly stunning  him  with  a  multitude  of  useless  words  of 
which  he  comprehends  nothing  except  the  tone  which  she 
throws  into  them.  I  would  have  the  first  articulations 
which  he  is  made  to  hear  few  in  number,  easy  to  repro- 
duce, distinct,  and  often  repeated  ;  and  I  would  have  the 
words  which  they  express  relate  to  sensible  objects  which 
can  at  once  be  shown  to  the  child.  The  unfortunate 
facility  which  we  have  of  using  words  which  we  do  not 
understand  commences  sooner  than  we  think.  The  pupil 
in  class  hears  the  verbiage  of  his  master  just  as  he  heard 
in  the  cradle  the  babble  of  his  nurse.  It  seems  to  me 
that  it  would  be  instructing  him  very  usefully  to  bring 
him  up  without  comprehending  anything  of  this. 

But  an  abuse  of  far  greater  importance,  and  one  not 
less  easy  to  prevent,  is  our  over-haste  in  making  children 
speak,  as  though  we  were  afraid  that  they  would  never 
learn  to  speak  of  themselves.  This  indiscreet  haste  pro- 
duces an  effect  directly  contrary  to  the  one  we  aim  to 
secure ;  for  by  this  means  children  are  later  in  learning 
to  speak,  and  they  speak  more  indistinctly.  The  extreme 
attention  which  we  give  to  all  they  say  makes  it  unneces- 
sary for  them  to  articulate  distinctly,  and  as  they  scarcely 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  37 

deign  to  open  their  mouths,  many  of  them  retain  for  life 
a  vicious  pronunciation  and  a  confused  manner  of  speak- 
ing which  render  them  almost  unintelligible. 

I  have  passed  much  of  my  life  among  the  peasantry, 
and  I  have  never  known  one  of  them,  either  man  or 
woman,  girl  or  boy,  whose  articulation  was  indistinct, 
How  does  this  happen  ?  Are  the  organs  of  peasants  con- 
structed differently  from  our  own?  No;  but  they  are 
differently  exercised.  Opposite  my  window  is  a  hillock, 
on  which  the  children  of  the  neighborhood  collect  to  play. 
Although  they  are  at  some  distance  from  me,  I  perfectly 
distinguish  all  they  say,  and  from  this  source  I  often 
draw  illustrations  for  this  essay.  Every  day  my  ear  de- 
ceives me  as  to  their  age.  I  hear  the  voices  of  children 
ten  years  old ;  but  I  observe,  and  I  see  the  stature  and 
the  features  of  children  from  three  to  four.  But  I  do  not 
limit  this  experience  to  myself  alone.  City  friends  who 
come  to  see  me,  and  whom  I  consult  on  this  matter,  all 
fall  into  the  same  error. 

The  cause  of  this  is,  that  up  to  the  age  of  five  or  six, 
city  children,  brought  up  within  doors,  under  the  wing  of 
a  governess,  need  only  to  mutter  in  order  to  make  them- 
selves understood.  The  moment  they  move  their  lips, 
special  effort  is  made  to  hear  them ;  words  are  addressed 
to  them  which  they  reproduce  imperfectly ;  and,  forced  to 
pay  attention  to  them,  those  who  are  constantly  about 
them  guess  what  they  wish  to  say  rather  than  what  they 
do  say. 

In  the  country  everything  is  different.  Here,  a  mother 
is  not  always  near  her  child,  and  he  is  obliged  to  learn 
how  to  say  very  distinctly  and  with  a  very  loud  voicr 
what  he  needs  to  have  her  hear.  In  the  open  countr}*,  as 
children  are  relatively  few  in  number,  and  often  sepa- 
rated from  father,  mother,  and  other  children,  they  exert 


38  EMILE. 

themselves  to  be  heard  at  a  distance,  and  to  adapt  then 
force  of  voice  to  the  distance  which  separates  them 
from  those  by  whom  they  wish  to  be  heard.  This  is  the 
way  we  really  learn  to  pronounce,  and  not  by  lisping  a 
few  vowels  in  the  ear  of  an  attentive  governess.  Thus, 
when  we  interrogate  the  child  of  a  peasant,  diffidence 
may  prevent  him  from  replying,  but  whatever  he  says  he 
says  distinctly ;  whereas  it  is  necessary  for  the  nurse  to 
act  as  interpreter  to  the  city  child,  without  whose  aid 
we  understand  nothing  of  what  is  muttered  between  his 
teeth. 

I  grant  that  country  and  village  people  go  to  the  other 
extreme ;  that  they  almost  always  speak  louder  than  is 
necessary ;  that  in  pronouncing  too  distinctly  their  articu- 
lation is  strong  and  rough ;  that  they  overdo  the  matter 
of  accent,  and  that  their  choice. of  terms  is  bad. 

But,  in  the  first  place,  this  extreme  seems  to  me  less 
vicious  than  the  other,  seeing  that  the  first  law  of  dis- 
course being  to  make  one's  self  understood,  the  greatest 
fault  one  can  commit  is  to  speak  without  being  under- 
stood. To  pride  one's  self  on  having  no  accent,  is  to  pride 
one's  self  on  taking  away  from  sentences  their  grace  and 
force.  Accent  is  the  soul  of  discourse ;  it  gives  to  it  feel- 
ing and  truth.  Accent  lies  less  than  speech,  and  it  is 
perhaps  for  this  reason  that  well-bred  people  fear  it  so 
much.  It  is  from  the  custom  of  saying  everything  in  the 
same  tone  that  has  come  the  practice  of  quizzing  people 
without  their  knowing  it.  This  proscription  of  accent  is 
followed  by  modes  of  pronunciation  which  are  ridiculous, 
affected,  and  governed  by  fashion,  such  as  are  noticed 
particularly  in  the  young  people  in  court  circles.  This 
affectation  in  speech  and  bearing  is  what  generally  renders 
Ae  presence  of  Frenchmen  repulsive  and  disagreeable  to 
other  nations.  Instead  of  putting  accent  into  his  speech, 


INFANCY— GENERAL  PRINCIPLES.  39 

he  puts  it  in  his  manner.  This  is  not  a  means  of  pre- 
possession in  his  favor. 

All  these  little  faults  of  language  which  we  so  much 
fear  to  have  children  contract,  are  of  no  account — they 
are  prevented  or  corrected  with  the  greatest  facility ;  but 
those  which  they  are  made  to  contract  by  making  their 
speech  indistinct,  confused,  and  timid,  by  incessantly  criti- 
cising their  tone,  and  by  picking  over  their  words,  are 
never  corrected.  A  man  who  learns  to  speak  only  in  his 
chamber  will  make  himself  but  poorly  understood  at  the 
head  of  a  battalion,  and  will  hardly  overawe  people  who 
are  engaged  in  a  riot. 

The  child  who  would  learn  to  talk  should  hear  only 
the  words  which  he  can  understand,  and  speak  only  those 
which  he  can  articulate.  The  efforts  which  he  makes 
for  this  purpose  lead  him  to  repeat  the  same  syllable,  as 
though  practicing  to  pronounce  it  more  distinctly.  When 
he  begins  to  stammer,  do  not  fret  yourselves  so  much  to 
conjecture  what  he  says.  Always  to  claim  the  attention 
of  others  is  of  itself  a  sort  of  domination  which  the  child 
ought  not  to  exercise.  Let  it  suffice  for  you  to  provide 
very  attentively  for  what  is  necessary ;  it  is  his  part  to  try 
to  make  you  understand  what  is  not  necessary.  Still  less 
should  you  be  in  haste  to  require  him  to  talk;  he  will 
easily  learn  to  talk  as  he  comes  to  feel  the  utility  of  it. 

The  greatest  evil  coming  from  the  precipitation  which 
makes  children  talk  prematurely,  is  not  that  the  first 
conversations  held  with  them,  and  the  first  words  which 
they  speak,  have  no  meaning  for  them,  but  that  they 
have  a  different  meaning  from  our  own,  and  this  with- 
out our  being  conscious  of  it ;  so  that,  while  seeming  to 
reply  to  us  with  great  exactness,  they  speak  to  us  with- 
out understanding  us  and  without  our  understanding 
them.  It  is  for  the  most  part  to  such  ambiguities  that 


40  EMILE. 

is  due  the  surprise  produced  in  us  by  some  of  their  say- 
ings to  which  we  attach  ideas  that  they  have  never  con- 
nected with  them.  This  inattention,  on  our  part,  to  the 
real  meaning  which  words  have  for  children,  seems  to  me 
the  cause  of  their  first  errors,  and  these  errors,  even  after 
they  had  been  cured,  have  an  influence  on  their  turn  of 
mind  for  the  rest  of  their  life. 

Contract,  then,  as  much  as  possible,  the  vocabulary  of 
the  child.  It  is  a  great  disadvantage  for  him  to  have 
more  words  than  ideas,  and  to  know  how  to  say  more 
things  than  he  can  think.  I  believe  that  one  of  the 
reasons  why  peasants  generally  have  more  accurate  minds 
than  people  of  the  city  is  that  their  vocabulary  is  less  ex- 
tensive. They  have  few  ideas,  but  they  compare  them 
very  accurately.* 

The  first  developments  of  infancy  take  place  almost 
simultaneously.  A  child  learns  to  talk,  to  eat,  and  to 
walk,  almost  at  the  same  time.  Here  is  properly  the  first 
epoch  of  his  life.  Before  this,  he  is  nothing  more  than 
he  was  before  he  was  born ;  he  has  no  feeling,  no  ideas, 
he  hardly  has  sensations ;  he  is  not  even  conscious  of  his 
own  existence. 

"  Virit,  et  est  vitce  nescius  ipse  suce." — OVID,  Tristia,  lib.  i. 

*  "  Words,"  says  Hobbes,  "  are  wise  men's  counters,  but  the 
money  of  fools."  The  disposition  to  accept  empty  words  for  ideas 
has  justified  educational  reformers  in  declaiming  against  mere 
word-study  and  routine  memorizing;  but  it  is  to  be  recollected 
that  words  are  the  instruments  of  thought,  and  that  a  small  vo- 
cabulary implies  a  narrow  range  of  thinking  and  a  low  power  of 
intellectual  discrimination.  Provided  words  are  properly  signifi- 
cant, a  large  vocabulary  is  in  every  way  desirable.  Whether  the 
child  proceeds  from  ideas  to  words  or  from  words  to  ideas  is  im- 
material, provided  there  is  an  indissoluble  union  effected  between 
the  sign  and  the  thing  signified.  Both  orders  of  sequence  are 
"  natural."— (P.) 


BOOK  SECOND. 

THE    CHILD    FROM    THE    AGE    OF    FIVE    TO    TWELVE  -  PHYSICAL 
EDUCATION -INSTRUCTION   THROUGH    EXPERIENCE    AND  THE 

SENSES. 

WE  are  now  at  the  second  period  of  life — that  where 
infancy  properly  ends ;  for  the  words  in/arts  and  puer  are 
not  synonymous.  The  first  is  comprised  in  the  second, 
and  signifies  one  who  can  not  speak.  Whence  it  happens 
that  in  Valerius  Maximus  we  find  puerum  infantem* 
But  I  shall  continue  to  employ  this  word  according  to 
current  usage,  until  the  age  for  which  we  have  other 
names. 

When  children  begin  to  speak,  they  cry  less.  This 
progress  is  natural ;  one  language  is  substituted  for  an- 
other. As  soon  as  they  can  use  words  to  say  that  they 
suffer,  why  should  they  say  it  by  cries  ,save  when  the 
suffering  is  too  keen  to  be  expressed  by  words  ?  If  they 
continue  to  cry,  it  is  the  fault  of  those  who  are  about 
them.  When  Emile  has  once  said,  /  am  sick,  his  suffer- 
ings must  be  very  keen  in  order  to  force  him  to  weep. 

If  a  child  is  so  delicate  and  sensitive  as  naturally  to 
resort  to  crying,  I  at  once  dry  up  the  source  of  his  tears 
by  making  them  useless  and  without  effect.  As  long  as 
he  is  crying,  I  do  not  go  to  him ;  but  I  run  to  him  the 
moment  he  has  become  still.  Very  soon,  his  way  of 
calling  me  will  be  to  cease  crying,  or  at  least  to  utter  but 

*  Lib.  i,  cap.  vi, 


42  fiMILE. 

one  cry.  It  is  through  the  sensible  effects  of  signs  that 
children  judge  of  their  meaning ;  for  them,  there  is  no 
other  convention.  Whatever  ill  may  befall  the  child,  it 
is  very  rare  that  he  cries  when  he  is  alone,  at  least  if  he 
has  no  hope  of  being  heard. 

If  he  falls  and  bumps  his  head,  if  his  nose  bleeds,  or 
if  he  cuts  his  fingers,  instead  of  rushing  to  him  with  an 
air  of  alarm,  I  remain  unmoved,  at  least  for  a  little  time. 
The  mischief  is  done,  and  he  must  necessarily  endure  it ; 
all  my  assiduity  serves  only  to  frighten  him  the  more  and 
to  increase  his  suffering.  In  reality  it  is  not  so  much  the 
cut,  but  the  fear,  which  torments  him  when  he  is  wounded. 
I  will  at  least  spare  him  this  last  suffering ;  for  most  cer- 
tainly he  will  judge  of  his  misfortune  as  he  sees  that  I 
judge  of  it.  If  he  sees  me  run  to  him  with  a  disturbed 
air,  console  him,  and  pity  him,  he  will  think  himself  lost ; 
but  if  he  sees  that  I  remain  cool,  he  will  soon  regain  his 
own  composure,  and  will  think  the  evil  cured  when  he  no 
longer  feels  it.  It  is  at  this  age  that  the  first  lessons  of 
courage  are  learned,  and  that,  suffering  slight  pains  with- 
out dismay,  we  learn  by  degrees  to  endure  those  that  are 
greater. 

Far  from  being  careful  to  prevent  Emile  from  harm- 
ing himself,  I  should  be  very  sorry  never  to  have  him  hurt, 
and  to  have  him  grow  up  without  knowing  what  pain  is. 
To  suffer  is  the  first  thing  he  ought  to  learn,  and  that 
which  he  will  have  the  greatest  need  to  know.  It  seems 
that  children  are  small  and  weak  in  order  to  learn  these  im- 
portant lessons  without  danger.  If  a  child  falls  from  his 
chair,  he  will  not  break  his  leg ;  if  he  strikes  himself  with 
a  stick,  he  will  not  break  his  arm ;  if  he  takes  hold  of  a 
sharp  knife,  he  will  hardly  press  it  tightly  enough  to  make 
a  very  deep  wound.  I  do  not  know  that  a  case  has  ever 
been  known  where  a  child,  left  at  liberty,  has  killed  or 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.   43 

maimed  himself,  or  has  done  himself  any  very  great  harm, 
save  when  he  has  been  indiscreetly  seated  in  some  high 
place,  or  left  alone  near  the  fire,  or  when  dangerous  instru- 
ments have  been  left  within  his  reach.  What  shall  be 
said  of  that  stock  of  machines  collected  around  a  child  to 
arm  him  from  head  to  foot  against  suffering,  to  such  an 
extent  that  when  grown  he  remains  at  their  mercy,  with- 
out courage  and  without  experience,  and  thinks  himself 
dead  at  the  first  scratch,  and  faints  at  the  sight  of  the 
first  drop  of  his  own  blood  ?  * 

Our  pedantic  mania  for  instruction  is  always  leading 
us  to  teach  children  things  which  they  would  learn  much 
better  of  their  own  accord,  and  to  forget  what  we  alone 
are  able  to  teach  them.  Is  there  anything  more  foolish 
than  the  trouble  we  take  to  teach  them  how  to  walk,  as 
though  any  one  had  ever  been  seen  who,  through  the 
negligence  of  his  nurse,  was  not  able  to  walk  when  grown 
up?  On  the  contrary,  how  many  people  have  we  seen 
who  walk  poorly  all  their  lives,  because  they  have  been 
badly  taught  how  to  walk  ! 

Emile  shall  have  neither  head-pads,  nor  wheeled  pan- 
niers, nor  go-carts,  nor  leading  strings ;  or,  at  least,  from 
the  moment  he  begins  to  know  how  to  put  one  foot 
before  the  other,  he  shall  be  supported  only  on  paved 
places,  and  care  shall  be  taken  to  pass  over  these  in 
haste,  f  Instead  of  allowing  him  to  stagnate  in  the  pol- 
luted air  of  his  chamber,  let  him  be  taken  out  daily  into 
the  open  meadow.  There  let  him  run  and  frolic  and  fall 

*  For  the  extreme  development  of  this  doctrine,  see  Spencer, 
Education,  Chapter  III. 

f  There  is  nothing  more  ridiculous  and  mo-'e  uncertain  than  the 
walk  of  persons  who  have  been  guided  too  much  by  leading-strings 
while  young.  This  is  another  of  those  observations  which  are  trivial 
because  they  are  just,  and  which  are  just  in  more  senses  than  one. 


44  EMILE. 

down  a  hundred  times  a  day ;  so  much  the  better,  for  by 
this  means  he  will  learn  the  sooner  to  pick  himself  up. 
The  blessings  of  liberty  are  worth  many  wounds.  My 
pupil  will  often  have  bruises ;  but  in  return  he  will  always 
be  in  good  spirits.  If  yours  have  fewer,  they  are  always 
perverse,  always  restrained,  always  sad.  I  doubt  whether 
the  advantage  is  on  their  side. 

As  children  grow  in  strength,  complaining  is  less 
necessary  for  them.  As  they  grow  in  power  to  help 
themselves,  they  have  less  frequent  need  to  resort  to  the 
assistance  of  others.  Along  with  their  growth  in  power 
there  is  developed  the  knowledge  which  puts  them  in  a 
condition  to  direct  it.  It  is  at  this  second  stage  that  the 
life  of  the  individual  properly  begins.  It  is  then  that  he 
takes  knowledge  of  himself.  Memory  diffuses  the  feeling 
of  identity  over  all  the  moments  of  his  existence.  He 
becomes  truly  one,  the  same,  and  consequently  already 
capable  of  happiness  or  misery.  It  is  important,  then, 
that  we  begin  to  consider  him  here  as  a  moral  being. 

Although  at  any  given  age  the  longest  term  of  human 
life,  and  the  probability  of  attaining  it,  are  in  a  great 
measure  determinate,  nothing  is  more  uncertain  than  the 
duration  of  life  of  any  particular  man;  for  very  few 
attain  to  this  longest  term.  The  greatest  risks  to  life  are 
at  its  beginning.  The  shorter  time  we  have  lived,  the 
shorter  time  ought  we  to  expect  to  live.  Of  all  the  chil- 
dren who  are  born,  only  a  half,  at  most,  come  to  adoles- 
cence ;  and  it  is  probable  that  your  pupil  will  not  live  to 
be  a  man. 

What  must  we  think,  then,  of  that  barbarous  educa- 
tion which  sacrifices  the  present  to  an  uncertain  future, 
which  loads  a  child  with  chains  of  every  sort,  and  begins 
by  making  him  miserable  in  order  to  prepare  for  him, 
long  in  advance,  some  pretended  happiness  which  it  is 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  45 

probable  he  will  never  enjoy?  Were  I  even  to  assume 
that  education  to  be  reasonable  in  its  object,  how  could 
we  witness,  without  indignation,  these  poor  unfortunates 
subject  to  an  insupportable  yoke,  and  condemned,  like 
galley-slaves,  to  never-ending  toil,  without  any  assurance 
that  such  sacrifices  will  ever  be  useful  to  them  ?  The  age 
of  mirth  is  passed  in  the  midst  of  tears,  chastisements, 
threats,  and  slavery.  The  victim  is  tormented  for  his 
good ;  and  we  do  not  see  the  death  which  we  invite,  and 
which  is  coming  to  seize  him  in  the  midst  of  this  sad 
preparation.  Who  knows  how  many  children  perish,  the 
victims  of  the  misdirected  wisdom  of  a  father  or  a  teach- 
er? Happily  released  from  his  cruelty,  the  only  advan- 
tage which  they  derive  from  the  ills  which  they  have 
been  made  to  suffer,  is  to  die  without  looking  back  with 
regret  on  a  life  of  which  they  have  known  only  the  tor- 
ments. 

0  men,  be  humane;  it  is  your  foremost  duty.  Be 
humane  to  all  classes  and  to  all  ages,  to  everything  not 
foreign  to  mankind.  What  wisdom  is  there  for  you  out- 
side of  humanity?  Love  childhood ;  encourage  its  sports, 
its  pleasures,  its  amiable  instincts.  Who  of  you  has  not 
sometimes  looked  back  with  regret  on  that  age  when  a 
smile  was  ever  on  the  lips,  when  the  soul  was  ever  at 
peace  ?  Why  would  you  take  from  those  little  innocents 
the  enjoyment  of  a  time  so  short  which  is  slipping  from 
them,  and  of  a  good  so  precious  which  they  can  not 
abuse  ?  Why  would  you  fill  with  bitterness  and  sorrow 
those  early  years  so  rapidly  passing,  which  will  no  more 
return  to  them  than  to  you  ?  Fathers,  do  you  know  the 
moment  when  death  awaits  your  children  ?  Do  not  pre- 
pare for  yourselves  regrets  by  taking  from  them  the  few 
moments  which  Nature  has  given  them.  As  soon  as  they 
can  feel  the  pleasures  of  existence,  allow  them  to  enjoy  it 


46  3MILE. 

and  at  whatever  hour  God  may  summon  them,  see  to  it 
that  they  do  not  die  before  they  have  tasted  life. 

In  order  not  to  be  running  after  chimeras,  let  us  not 
forget  what  is  befitting  our  condition.  Humanity  has  its 
place  in  the  order  of  things,  and  infancy  has  its  place  in 
the  order  of  human  life.  We  must  consider  the  man  in 
the  man,  and  the  child  in  the  child.  To  assign  to  each 
his  place,  and  to  fix  him  there,  to  adjust  human  passions 
according  to  the  constitution  of  man — this  is  all  that  we 
can  do  for  his  well-being.  The  rest  depends  on  extrane- 
ous causes  which  are  not  in  our  power. 

We  do  not  know  what  absolute  happiness  or  unhappi- 
ness  is.  In  this  life  all  things  are  intermingled ;  we  ex- 
perience no  unmixed  feeling ;  we  do  not  remain  for  two 
moments  in  the  same  state  of  emotion.  The  affections  of 
our  souls,  like  the  modifications  of  our  bodies,  are  in  a 
continual  flux.  Good  and  evil  are  common  to  us  all,  but 
.in  different  degrees.  He  is  the  happiest  who  suffers  the 
least  pain ;  and  he  the  most  wretched  who  feels  the  few- 
est pleasures.  There  are  always  more  sufferings  than 
enjoyments,  and  this  is  the  difference  which  is  common 
to  all.  Human  felicity  here  below  is,  then,  but  a  negative 
state,  and  we  must  estimate  it  by  the  smallest  quantity  of 
evils  which  we  suffer. 

Every  sensation  of  pain  is  inseparable  from  the  desire 
to  be  delivered  from  it,  and  every  idea  of  pleasure  is  in- 
separable from  the  desire  to  enjoy  it.  Every  desire  sup- 
poses privation  ;  and  all  the  privations  which  we  feel  are 
painful.  It  is,  then,  in  the  disproportion  between  our  de- 
sires and  our  faculties  that  our  unhappiness  consists.  A 
sensible  being  whose  powers  should  equal  his  desires  would 
be  an  absolutely  happy  being. 

Keep  the  child  dependent  on  things  alone,  and  you 
will  have  followed  the  order  of  Nature  in  his  education. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  4? 

Offer  to  his  indiscreet  caprices  only  physical  obstacles  or 
punishments  which  result  from  his  actions  themselves, 
and  .which  he  recalls  on  occasion.  Without  forbidding 
him  to  do  wrong,  it  suffices  to  prevent  him  from  doing  it. 
Only  experience  or  want  of  power  should  serve  as  law  for 
him.  Grant  nothing  to  his  desires  because  he  demands 
it,  but  because  he  has  need  of  it.  Do  not  let  him  know 
what  obedience  is  when  he  acts,  nor  what  control  is  when 
others  act  for  him.  Equally  in  his  actions  and  in  yours, 
let  him  feel  his  liberty.  If  he  is  lacking  in  power,  sup- 
ply the  exact  amount  of  it  which  he  needs  in  order  to 
be  free  and  not  imperious ;  and  while  receiving  your  aid 
with  a  sort  of  humiliation,  let  him  long  for  the  moment 
when  he  will  be  able  to  do  without  it,  and  when  he  will 
have  the  honor  to  serve  himself. 

In  order  to  strengthen  the  body  and  to  make  it  grow, 
Nature  resorts  to  means  which  ought  never  to  be  thwarted. 
A  child  must  not  be  constrained  to  keep  still  when  he 
wishes  to  move,  nor  to  move  when  he  wishes  to  remain 
quiet.  When  the  will  of  children  has  not  been  spoiled  by 
our  fault,  they  wish  nothing  that  is  to  no  purpose.  They 
must  jump,  and  run,  and  scream,  whenever  they  have  a 
mind  to  do  so.  All  their  movements  are  needs  of  their 
constitution  which  is  trying  to  fortify  itself ;  but  we  should 
distrust  the  desires  which  they  themselves  have  not  the 
power  to  satisfy.  We  must  then  be  careful  to  distinguish 
the  true  or  natural  need  from  the  fancied  need  which 
begins  to  appear,  or  from  that  which  comes  merely  from 
that  superabundance  of  life  of  which  I  have  spoken. 

I  have  already  directed  what  must  be  done  when  a 
child  cries  in  order  to  obtain  this  or  that.  I  will  only  add 
that  when  he  can  ask  for  what  he  wants  in  words,  and 
when,  in  order  to  obtain  it  more  quickly,  or  to  overcome 
a  refusal,  he  supplements  his  demands  with  tears,  it 


48  fiMILE. 

ought  to  be  firmly  refused  him.  If  a  real  need  has  made 
him  speak,  you  ought  to  know  it  and  to  supply  the  de- 
mand at  once ;  but  to  yield  something  to  his  tears  is  to 
encourage  him  to  cry  the  more,  to  teach  him  to  doubt 
your  good-will,  and  to  believe  that  importunity  goes 
further  with  you  than  kindness.  If  he  does  not  believe 
that  you  are  good,  he  will  soon  become  bad ;  and  if  he 
thinks  you  weak,  he  will  soon  become  obstinate.  It  is 
important  always  to  grant  at  the  first  intimation  what  we 
do  not  mean  to  refuse.  Be  not  prodigal  in  refusals,  but 
never  recall  them. 

Be  especially  on  your  guard  against  giving  the  child 
empty  formulas  of  politeness  which  he  may  use  at  need 
as  magic  words  to  subject  to  his  caprices  all  that  sur- 
rounds him,  and  to  obtain  on  the  instant  whatever  it 
pleases  him  to  demand.  In  the  ceremonious  education  of 
the  wealthy,  children  are  always  made  politely  imperious 
by  prescribing  for  them  the  terms  which  they  must  em- 
ploy in  order  that  no  one  may  dare  to  resist  them ;  they 
are  suppliant  neither  in  tone  nor  manner,  but  are  even 
more  arrogant  when  they  entreat  than  when  they  com- 
mand, as  being  more  sure  of  being  obeyed.  We  see  at 
once  that,  in  their  mouth,  If  you  please  signifies  It  pleases 
me,  and  that  I  beg  you  signifies  I  command  you.  Admirable 
politeness,  which  for  them  amounts  merely  to  a  change  in 
the  meaning  of  words,  and  to  an  inability  ever  to  speak 
otherwise  than  in  a  tone  of  command !  As  for  me,  I 
would  rather  have  Emile  rude  than  arrogant ;  I  would 
much  rather  have  him  say,  in  making  a  request,  Do  this, 
than  in  commanding,  /  beg  you.  It  is  not  the  term  which 
he  uses  that  I  care  about,  but  rather  the  meaning  which 
he  connects  with  it. 

There  is  an  excess  of  severity  and  an  excess  of  indul- 
gence, and  both  are  equally  to  be  avoided.  If  you  allow 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   49 

children  to  suffer,  you  expose  their  health  and  their  life, 
and  make  them  actually  miserable ;  if  you  are  overcare- 
ful  in  sparing  them  every  sort  of  discomfort,  you  are  lay- 
ing up  in  store  for  them  great  wretchedness  by  making 
them  delicate  and  sensitive ;  you  remove  them  from  that 
condition  of  men  to  which  they  will  one  day  return  in 
spite  of  you.  In  order  not  to  expose  them  to  some  ills 
of  Nature,  you  are  the  author  of  others  which  she  has  not 
provided  for  them.  You  will  tell  me  that  I  fall  into  the 
error  of  those  unwise  fathers  whom  I  reproach  with  sacri- 
ficing the  happiness  of  children  out  of  consideration  for  a 
remote  time  which  may  never  come.  By  no  means ;  for 
the  liberty  which  I  grant  my  pupil  amply  rewards  him  for 
the  slight  discomforts  to  which  I  allow  him  to  be  exposed. 
I  see  little  vagabonds  playing  in  the  snow,  purple  with 
cold,  benumbed  and  hardly  able  to  move  their  fingers. 
They  are  at  liberty  to  go  and  warm  themselves,  but  they 
do  not  do  it ;  and  if  they  were  forced  to  go  they  would 
feel  the  rigors  of  constraint  a  hundred  times  more  than 
they  feel  those  of  the  cold.  Of  what,  then,  do  you  com- 
plain? Shall  I  make  your  child  wretched  by  exposing 
him  only  to  the  discomforts  which  he  is  perfectly  willing 
to  suffer?  I  am  doing  him  good  at  the  present  moment 
by  leaving  him  free ;  and  I  am  doing  him  a  future  good 
by  arming  him  against  ills  which  he  ought  to  endure.  If 
he  could  choose  between  being  my  pupil  and  yours,  do 
you  think  he  would  hesitate  for  an  instant  ? 

Can  you  conceive  that  any  real  happiness  is  possible 
for  any  being  outside  of  his  constitution  ?  And  is  it  not 
to  remove  man  from  his  constitutional  state  to  desire  to 
exempt  him  equally  from  all  the  ills  of  his  species?  This 
is  certainly  my  belief.  In  order  that  man  may  appreciate 
great  blessings,  he  must  know  small  evils;  such  is  his 
nature.  If  the  physical  life  is  too  exuberant,  the  moral 


50  EMILE. 

rife  degenerates.  The  man  who  has  not  experienced  suf- 
fering knows  neither  human  tenderness  nor  the  sweetness 
of  commiseration.  He  would  be  touched  by  nothing,  would 
be  unsocial,  and  a  monster  among  his  fellows. 

Do  you  know  the  surest  way  of  making  your  child 
miserable?  It  is  by  accustoming  him  to  obtain  what- 
ever he  desires ;  for,  as  his  desires  are  constantly  growing 
through  the  facility  of  satisfying  them,  sooner  or  later 
your  very  inability  will  force  you,  in  spite  of  yourself,  to 
resort  to  a  refusal;  and  this  unaccustomed  refusal  will 
give  him  more  distress  than  the  very  privation,  of  what  he 
desires.  First  he  would  have  your  cane,  presently  your 
watch,  next  the  bird  which  he  sees  flying  in  the  air,  and 
finally  the  stars  which  he  sees  glittering  in  the  heavens — 
in  a  word,  he  would  have  everything  he  sees ;  and,  short 
of  being  God  himself,  how  is  he  to  be  satisfied  ? 

If  these  notions  of  domination  and  tyranny  make 
men  wretched  in  infancy,  what  will  be  their  condition 
when  they  have  become  grown,  and  their  relations  with 
other  men  have  begun  to  extend  and  multiply  ?  Accus- 
tomed to  see  everything  bend  before  them,  what  will  be 
their  surprise  on  entering  the  world  to  see  that  everything 
resists  them,  and  to  find  themselves  crushed  under  the 
weight  of  that  universe  which  they  imagined  they  could 
move  at  will !  Their  insolent  airs  and  puerile  vanity 
bring  upon  them  only  mortification,  disdain,  and  raillery ; 
they  drink  affronts  like  water ;  and  cruel  experiences  soon 
teach  them  that  they  know  neither  their  condition  nor 
their  strength.  Not  being  able  to  do  everything,  they 
think  they  can  do  nothing.  So  many  unaccustomed  ob- 
stacles dishearten  them,  so  many  rebuffs  humiliate  them, 
that  they  become  cowardly,  timid,  and  cringing,  and  fall 
as  much  below  themselves  as  they  were  once  raised  above 
themselves. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.    51 

Considered  in  itself,  is  there  anything  in  the  world 
more  helpless,  more  wretched,  more  at  the  mercy  of  every- 
thing that  surrounds  it,  than  an  infant  ?  Is  there  any- 
thing that  has  such  need  of  pity,  attention,  and  protec- 
tion, as  a  child  ?  Does  it  not  seem  that  he  presents  a  face 
so  benignant  and  a  look  so  touching  solely  to  the  end  that 
every  one  who  approaches  him  may  become  interested  in 
his  helplessness  and  run  to  his  assistance  ?  Then  what  is 
more  shocking,  more  contrary  to  propriety,  than  to  see  a 
haughty  and  stubborn  child  give  orders  to  all  who  are 
about  him,  and  so  indiscreet  as  to  lord  it  over  those  who 
have  only  to  abandoa  him  in  order  to  cause  him  to  perish  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  who  does  not  see  that  the  helpless- 
ness of  early  life  puts  so  many  restraints  on  children  that 
it  is  barbarous  to  add  to  this  enthrallment  that  of  our  own 
caprices,  by  depriving  them  of  a  liberty  so  contracted, 
which  they  can  so  little  abuse,  and  of  which  they  can  be 
deprived  with  so  little  advantage  to  them  and  to  us  ?  If 
there  is  no  object  so  ridiculous  as  a  haughty  child,  there 
is  none  so  pitiable  as  a  timorous  child.  Since  civil  servi- 
tude begins  with  the  age  of  reason,  why  anticipate  it  by 
private  servitude  ?  Let  us  allow  life  to  have  a  moment's 
exemption  from  that  yoke  that  has  not  been  imposed  on  us 
by  Mature,  and  leave  to  infancy  the  exercise  of  that  natural 
liberty  which  diverts  the  child,  at  least  for  a  time,  from  the 
vices  that  are  contracted  in  slavery.  Then  let  those  harsh 
tutors  and  those  fathers  who  are  enslaved  to  their  children 
come  forward  with  their  objections,  and,  before  vaunting 
their  methods,  let  them  once  learn  the  method  of  Nature. 

Your  child  should  obtain  nothing  because  he  demands 
it,  but  only  because  he  has  need  of  it ;  *  nor  should  he  do 

*  We  should  recollect  that  as  pain  is  often  a  necessity,  pleasure 
is  sometimes  a  need.    There  is,  then,  but  one  simple  desire  of  children 
7 


52  EMILE. 

anything  from  obedience,  but  from  necessity.  And  so  the 
terms  obey  and  command  are  proscribed  from  his  vocabu- 
lary, and  still  more  the  terms  duty  and  obligation ;  but  the 
terms  force,  necessity,  impotency,  and  constraint,  should 
have  a  large  place  in  it.  Before  the  age  of  reason  there  can 
be  no  idea  of  moral  being,  or  of  social  relations.  Hence,  so 
far  as  possible,  we  must  shun  the  use  of  the  words  which 
express  them,  for  fear  that  the  child  may  at  first  attach  to 
these  words  false  ideas  which  we  have  not  the  skill  or  the- 
power  to  destroy.  The  first  false  idea  which  enters  his 
head  is  the  germ  of  error  and  of  vice ;  and  it  is  to  this  first 
step  that  we  must  pay  particular  attention.  Proceed  in 
such  a  way  that  as  long  as  he  is  affected  only  by  sensuous 
things  all  his  ideas  shall  stop  at  sensation ;  so  proceed 
that  on  every  hand  he  may  perceive  about  him  only  the 
world  of  matter ;  for,  unless  you  do  this,  you  may  be  sure 
that  he  will  not  listen  to  you  at  all,  or  that  he  will  form 
of  the  moral  world  of  which  you  speak  to  him  fantastic 
notions  which  you  will  never  efface  from  his  life. 

To  reason  with  children  was  the  grand  maxim  of 
Locke,  and  it  is  the  one  chiefly  in  fashion  to-day.  Its 
success,  however,  does  not  appear  to  me  to  argue  very 
much  in  its  favor ;  and  for  my  part  I  know  nothing  more 
silly  than  those  children  with  whom  one  has  reasoned  so 
much.  Of  all  the  faculties  of  man,  reason,  which,  so  to 
speak,  is  but  the  aggregate  of  all  the  others,  is  that  which  is 
developed  with  the  most  difficulty  and  the  latest,  and  it  is 
this  one  which  we  propose  to  employ  to  develop  the  first ! 

which  should  never  be  gratified — that  of  being  obeyed.  Whence 
it  follows  that  in  whatever  they  demand  we  must  give  especial  at- 
tention to  the  motive  which  leads  them  to  demand  it.  Whenever 
it  is  possible,  grant  them  whatever  can  give  them  a  real  pleasure ; 
but  always  refuse  them  what  they  demand  merely  through  capricer 
or  in  order  to  exert  an  act  of  authority. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   53 

The  master- work  of  a  good  education  is  to  make  a  reason- 
able man,  and  we  propose  to  train  up  a  child  through  the 
reason !  This  is  to  begin  at  the  end,  and  to  confound  the 
instrument  with  the  work.  If  children  were  capable  of 
reasoning,  they  would  have  no  need  of  being  educated  ; 
but  by  speaking  to  them  from  their  earliest  years  in  a 
language  they  do  not  understand,  we  accustom  them  to 
be  satisfied  with  words,  to  pass  judgment  on  everything 
said  to  them,  to  esteem  themselves  just  as  wise  as  their 
teachers,  and  to  become  disputatious  and  stubborn ;  and 
whatever  we  expect  to  obtain  from  them  by  reasonable 
motives  we  never  obtain  save  by  motives  of  selfishness, 
fear,  or  vanity,  which  we  are  always  obliged  to  add  to  the 
first. 

Here  is  the  formula  to  which  may  be  reduced  almost 
all  the  moral  lessons  which  are  given,  or  may  be  given,  to 
children : 

Teacher :  You  must  not  do  that.  Child :  And  why 
must  I  not  do  that  ?  T.  Because  it  is  wrong.  C.  Wrong ! 
"What  is  it  to  do  wrong?  T.  To  do  what  is  forbidden. 
C.  What  is  the  penalty  for  doing  what  is  forbidden  ? 
T.  You  will  be  punished  for  your  disobedience.  C.  I  will 
do  it  in  such  a  way  that  nothing  will  be  known  about  it. 
T.  You  will  be  watched.  C.  I  will  hide  myself.  T.  You 
will  be  questioned.  C.  I  will  lie.  T.  You  must  not  lie. 
C.  Why  must  I  not  lie  ?  T.  Because  it  is  wrong  to  lie. 
Etc.,  etc. 

This  is  the  inevitable  circle.  Were  you  to  go  outside 
of  it,  the  child  would  no  longer  understand  you.  Are  not 
these  very  useful  instructions  ?  I  would  be  very  glad  to 
know  what  could  be  put  in  the  place  of  this  dialogue. 
Locke  himself  would  certainly  be  very  much  embarrassed 
to  tell  us.  To  know  good  and  evil,  and  to  understand 
the  reason  of  human  duties,  is  not  the  business  of  a  child. 


54:  EMILE. 

Nature  would  have  children  be  children  before  being 
men.  If  we  wish  to  pervert  this  order,  we  shall  produce 
precocious  fruits  which  will  have  neither  maturity  nor 
flavor,  and  will  speedily  deteriorate ;  we  shall  have  young 
doctors  and  old  children.  Childhood  has  its  own  way  of 
seeing,  thinking,  and  feeling,  and  nothing  is  more  foolish 
than  to  try  to  substitute  our  own  for  them.  I  would  as 
soon  require  a  child  to  be  five  feet  in  height  as  to  have 
judgment  at  the  age  of  ten.  Indeed,  of  what  use  would 
reason  be  to  him  at  that  age?  Reason  is  the  check  to 
strength,  but  the  child  has  no  need  of  this  check.* 

In  attempting  to  convince  your  pupils  of  the  duty  of 
obedience,  you  add  force  and  threats  to  this  pretended 
persuasion,  or,  still  worse,  flattery  and  promises.  In  this 
way,  then,  baited  by  interest  or  constrained  by  force,  they 
pretend  to  be  convinced  by  reason ;  they  see  very  clearly 
that  obedience  is  very  advantageous  to  them,  and  rebellion 
harmful,  the  moment  you  become  aware  of  either.  But 
as  you  exact  nothing  of  them  which  is  not  disagreeable, 
and  as  it  is  always  painful  to  obey  the  wills  of  others,  they 
secretly  gratify  their  own  wishes,  persuaded  that  they  are 
doing  right  as  long  as  their  disobedience  is  unknown,  but 
ready  to  acknowledge  that  they  have  done  wrong  if  they 
are  found  out,  for  fear  of  a  greater  evil.  The  ground  of 
duty  not  being  within  the  compass  of  their  years,  there  is 
not  a  man  living  who  can  succeed  in  making  them  truly 
conscious  of  it ;  but  the  fear  of  punishment,  the  hope  of 

*  Rousseau's  error  at  this  point  evidently  consists  in  giving  to 
the  word  reason  too  narrow  a  meaning.  Later  on  he  makes  a  similar 
mistake  in  the  use  of  the  word  memory.  Children  are  certainly 
capable  of  reasoning ;  they  can  "  deduce  inferences  justly  from  prem- 
ises"; but  as  compared  with  men  the  compass  of  their  reason  is 
small.  Rousseau  is  often  too  systematic ;  he  draws  hard  and  fast 
lines  which  his  beloved  and  revered  "  Nature  "  repudiates. — (P.) 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   55 

pardon,  importunity,  and  embarrassment  at  replying,  draw 
from  them  all  the  confessions  that  are  exacted ;  and  we 
fancy  that  they  have  have  been  convinced  when  they  have 
only  been  wearied  or  intimidated. 

What  follows?  In  the  first  place,  by  imposing  on 
them  a  duty  which  they  do  not  feel,  you  arm  them 
against  your  tyranny;  then  you  teach  them  to  become 
insincere,  deceitful,  untruthful,  in  order  to  extort  rewards 
or  to  escape  punishments ;  and,  finally,  accustoming  them 
always  to  cover  a  secret  motive  with  an  apparent  motive, 
you  yourselves  furnish  them  the  means  of  imposing  on 
you  constantly,  of  depriving  you  of  the  knowledge  of  their 
true  character,  and  on  occasion  of  satisfying  you  and 
others  with  empty  words.  The  laws,  you  will  say,  though 
obligatory  on  the  conscience,  also  employ  restraint  in  the 
case  of  grown  men.  This  I  grant;  but  what  are  these 
men  but  children  who  have  been  spoiled  by  education  ? 
This  is  precisely  what  we  must  prevent.  Employ  force 
with  children  and  reason  with  men ;  for  such  is  the 
order  of  Mature.  The  wise  man  has  no  need  of  laws. 

Treat  your  pupil  according  to  his  age.  On  the  start 
put  him  in  his  place,  and  hold  him  there  so  firmly  that  he 
will  no  longer  be  tempted  to  leave  it.  Then,  before 
knowing  what  wisdom  is,  he  will  practice  the  most  im- 
portant of  its  lessons.  Xever  command  him  to  do  any- 
thing whatever,  not  the  least  thing  in  the  world.*  Never 

*  With  equal  consistency  Rousseau  might  have  said  that  a  com- 
manding general  should  give  no  orders  to  his  soldiers.  In  order  to 
interpret  such  a  statement  as  this  we  must  recollect  again  that  the 
writer  was  an  extremist,  fond  of  paradox  and  rhetorical  display. 
When  discounted  at  a  proper  rate,  this  astonishing  statement  doubt- 
less means  that  we  should  be  sparing  in  our  commands  in  order  that 
the  child  may  learn  how  to  become  a  law  unto  himself  in  the  art  of 
right  conduct. — (P.) 


56 

allow  him  even  to  imagine  that  you  assume  to  have  any 
authority  over  him.  Let  him  know  merely  that  he  is 
weak  and  that  you  are  strong  ;  that  by  virtue  of  his  con- 
dition and  your  own  he  is  necessarily  at  your  mercy.  Let 
him  know  this,  let  him  learn  it,  let  him  feel  it ;  and  at 
an  early  hour  let  him  feel  on  his  proud  head  the  harsli 
yoke  which  Nature  imposes  on  man,  the  heavy  yoke  of 
necessity  under  which  every  finite  creature  must  bend. 
Let  him  see  this  necessity  in  things,  but  never  in  the 
caprice  *  of  men.  Let  the  rein  which  holds  him  be  force, 
and  not  authority.  Do  not  forbid  him  to  do  what  he 
ought  to  abstain  from  doing;  but  prevent  him  from 
doing  it  without  explanation  and  without  argument. 
Whatever  you  allow  him  to  do,  allow  him  to  do  it  at  the 
first  suggestion,  without  solicitation,  especially  without 
entreaty  and  without  conditions.  Give  your  assent  with 
cheerfulness,  and  never  refuse  save  with  reluctance ;  but 
let  all  your  refusals  be  irrevocable.  Let  no  importunity 
shake  your  resolution ;  but,  once  pronounced,  let  it  be  a 
brazen  wall  against  which  he  will  not  have  exhausted  his 
strength  a  half-dozen  times  before  he  gives  up  trying  to 
overthrow  it. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  you  will  make  the  child  patient, 
calm,  resigned,  peaceable,  even  when  his  wishes  have  not 
been  gratified ;  for  it  is  in  the  nature  of  man  to  endure 
patiently  the  necessity  of  things,  but  not  the  ill-will  of 
others. 

It  is  very  strange  that,  so  long  as  men  have  concerned 
themselves  with  the  education  of  children,  they  have  de- 
vised no  other  instrument  for  managing  them  than  emu- 

*  We  may  be  sure  that  the  child  will  regard  as  a  caprice  every 
will  which  is  contrary  to  his  own,  and  of  which  he  does  not  see  the 
reason.  Now,  a  child  sees  no  reason  in  anything  which  opposes  his 
own  whims. 


THE    CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.   57 

lation,  jealousy,  envy,  vanity,  covetousness,  and  debasing 
fear,  all  of  them  passions  of  the  most  dangerous  sort,  the 
most  prompt  to  ferment  and  the  most  fit  to  corrupt  the 
soul,  even  before  the  body  is  formed.  With  each  item  of 
precocious  instruction  which  we  would  cause  to  enter  their 
heads,  we  plant  a  vice  in  the  depth  of  their  hearts.  Sense- 
less instructors  think  they  are  doing  marvels  while  mak- 
ing their  pupils  bad  in  order  to  teach  them  what  goodness 
is ;  and  then  they  gravely  tell  us,  such  is  man !  Yes, 
such  is  the  man  whom  you  have  made. 

You  have  tried  all  instruments  save  one,  the  only  one 
which  can  succeed — well-regulated  liberty.  We  should 
not  undertake  the  education  of  a  child  unless  we  know 
how  to  conduct  him  where  we  will,  simply  by  the  laws  of 
the  possible  and  the  impossible.  The  sphere  of  each  be- 
ing equally  unknown,  we  extend  it  or  contract  it  about 
him  as  we  will.  AVe  enchain  him  or  urge  him  forward  or 
hold  him  back  with  nothing  but  the  restraint  of  neces- 
sity, without  a  murmur  on  his  part ;  and  we  make  him 
supple  and  docile  through  the  mere  force  of  things,  with- 
out giving  occasion  for  any  vice  to  germinate  in  him ; 
for  the  passions  are  never  aroused  so  long  as  they  are  of 
no  effect. 

Do  not  give  your  pupil  any  sort  of  verbal  lesson,  for 
he  is  to  be  taught  only  by  experience.  Inflict  on  him  no 
species  of  punishment,  for  he  does  not  know  what  it  is  to 
be  in  fault.  Never  make  him  ask  your  pardon,  for  he 
does  not  know  how  to  offend  you.  Divested  of  all  mo- 
rality in  his  actions,  he  can  do  nothing  which  is  morally 
wrong,  and  which  merits  either  chastisement  or  repri- 
mand.* 

*  This  declaration  assumes  that  actions  have  no  intrinsic  ethical 
quality,  that  experience  alone  determines  this  quality ;  and  children 


58  EMILE. 

I  see  that  the  reader,  already  dismayed,  is  judging  of 
this  child  by  his  own.  But  he  is  mistaken.  The  per- 
petual restraint  under  which  you  hold  your  pupils  irri- 
tates their  spirits ;  and  the  more  they  are  held  in  con- 
straint under  your  eyes,  the  more  turbulent  they  become 
the  moment  they  regain  their  liberty.  They  must  needs 
compensate  themselves,  when  they  can,  for  the  harsh  con- 
straint in  which  you  hold  them.  Two  pupils  from  the 
city  will  do  more  mischief  in  the  country  than  the  youth 
of  a  whole  village.  Shut  up  a  little  gentleman  and  a 
little  peasant  in  the  same  room,  and  the  first  will  have 
overturned  and  broken  everything  before  the  second  has 
stirred  from  his  place.  Why  is  this,  unless  the  one  is  in 
haste  to  abuse  a  moment  of  license ;  while  the  other, 
always  sure  of  his  liberty,  is  never  in  haste  to  make  use  of 
it  ?  And  yet,  village  children,  often  humored  or  thwarted, 
are  still  very  far  from  the  condition  in  which  I  would 
have  them  kept. 

Shall  I  venture  to  state,  at  this  point,  the  most  im- 
portant, the  most  useful  rule,  of  all  education  ?  It  is  not 
to  gain  time,  but  to  lose  it.  Ye  ordinary  readers,  pardon 
my  paradoxes,  for  they  must  be  uttered,  by  any  one  who 
reflects ;  and,  whatever  you  may  say  to  it,  I  would  much 
rather  be  a  man  of  paradoxes  than  a  man  of  prejudices. 
The  most  dangerous  period  in  human  life  is  the  interval 
between  birth  and  the  age  of  twelve.  It  is  the  time  when 
errors  and  vices  germinate,  and  when,  as  yet,  there  is  no 
instrument  to  destroy  them ;  and  when  the  instrument 
comes,  the  roots  have  gone  down  so  deep  that  the  time 
has  passed  for  pulling  them  out.  If  children  leaped  at  a 

have  no  innate  sense  of  right  and  wrong — assumptions  which  most 
moralists  deny.  I  try  to  discover  some  vestige  of  truth  in  Rousseau's 
extremest  statements,  but  my  good-will  and  vigilance  fail  me  here. 


•fEE   CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO   TWELVE.  59 

single  bound  from  the  state  of  nurslings  to  the  age  of 
reason,  the  current  education  might  be  the  best  for  them ; 
but  in  accordance  with  natural  progress  they  require  an 
education  of  a  totally  different  sort.  They  must  do  noth- 
ing with  their  soul  until  it  has  all  its  faculties ;  for  it  is 
impossible  for  the  soul  to  perceive  the  torch  which  you 
present  to  it  while  it  is  blind,  and  to  follow  in  the  bound- 
less field  of  ideas  a  route  which  the  reason  traces  so  faintly 
even  for  the  sharpest  eyes.* 

The  first  education,  then,  ought  to  be  purely  negative. 
It  consists  not  at  all  in  teaching  virtue  or  truth,  but  in 
shielding  the  heart  from  vice,  and  the  mind  from  error. 
If  you  could  do  nothing  and  allow  nothing  to  be  done ;  if 
you  could  bring  your  pupil  sound  and  robust  to  the  age 
of  twelve  years  without  his  being  able  to  distinguish  his 
right  hand  from  his  left — from  your  very  first  lessons  the 
eyes  of  his  understanding  would  be  open  to  reason.  With- 

*  This  doctrine  has  been  formulated  in  a  so-called  "  Pestaloz- 
zian  principle,"  as  follows :  "  First  form  the  mind  and  then  furnish 
it."  This  is  very  much  like  saying,  "  First  form  the  body  and  then 
feed  it " ;  as  though  either  mind  or  body  could  be  formed  save 
through  a  process  of  nurture. 

For  the  photographer's  use,  glass  surfaces  which  have  been  made 
sensitive  to  light  by  chemical  means  will  preserve  this  quality  in- 
definitely if  kept  in  darkness ;  but  when  exposed  to  light  they  be- 
come instantly  responsive  to  the  actinic  element  that  is  in  it.  It 
seems  to  be  Rousseau's  thought  that  by  sequestering  a  child  from 
society  his  soul  can  be  kept  void  of  all  positive  impressions  up  to 
the  age  of  twelve ;  and  that,  when  the  right  moment  comes,  with  all 
its  acquired  powers  as  yet  untried,  but  with  the  whole  apparatus  of 
feeling,  perception,  memory,  and  judgment  in  a  state  of  perfect 
readiness  and  expectancy,  it  will  be  instantly  and  perfectly  respon- 
sive to  its  environment.  It  seems  to  have  been  forgotten  that  such 
complete  isolation  is  impossible  even  if  it  were  desirable,  and  that 
the  soul  has  already  been  affected  to  its  very  depths  through  he- 
redity.—(P.) 


60  EMILE. 

out  prejudice  and  without  habit,  he  would  have  nothing 
in  him  which  could  counteract  the  effect  of  your  endeav- 
ors. Ere  long  he  would  become  in  your  hands  the  wisest 
of  men ;  and,  while  beginning  with  doing  nothing,  you 
will  have  produced  a  prodigy  of  education. 

Take  the  very  reverse  of  the  current  practice,  and  you 
will  almost  always  do  right.*  As  the  purpose  is  not  to 
make  of  a  child  a  child,  but  a  master  of  arts,  parents  and 
teachers  have  lost  no  time  in  rebuking,  correcting,  repri- 
manding, humoring,  threatening,  promising,  instructing, 
and  talking  reason.  You  should  do  better  than  this.  Be 
reasonable,  and  do  not  reason  at  all  with  your  pupil,  espe- 
cially to  make  him  approve  of  what  is  displeasing  to  him  ; 
for  to  be  always  lugging  reason  into  disagreeable  things  is 
but  to  make  it  wearisome  to  the  child,  and  at  once  to 
bring  it  into,  discredit  with  a  mind  which  is  not  yet  in  a 
condition  to  listen  to  it.  Exercise  his  body,  his  organs, 
his  senses,  and  his  powers,  but  keep  his  soul  lying  fallow 
as  long  as  you  possibly  can.  Be  on  your  guard  against 
all  feelings  which  precede  the  judgment  that  can  estimate 
their  value. 

Another  consideration,  which  confirms  the  utility  of 
this  method,  is  that  of  the  particular  genius  of  the  child, 
which  must  be  known  in  order  to  determine  what  moral 
regime  is  adapted  to  him.  Each  mind  has  its  own  form 
according  to  which  it  must  be  governed ;  and  for  the 
success  of  our  undertaking,  it  is  necessary  that  it  should 
be  governed  by  this  form  and  not  by  another.  If  you  are 
a  prudent  man,  you  will  watch  nature  for  a  long  time, 
and  will  carefully  observe  your  pupil  before  addressing  the 

*  This  will  have  a  familiar  sound  to  all  readers  who  are  acquainted 
with  the  utterances  of  modern  educational  reformers.  Pestalozzi 
thought  it  was  his  mission  to  "  stop  the  car  of  European  progress, 
and  set  it  going  in  a  new  direction." — (P.) 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF   FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    61 

first  word  to  him.  At  first  leave  the  germ  of  his  charac- 
ter at  perfect  liberty  to  unfold  itself,  and  put  no  con- 
straint whatever  upon  him,  in  order  that  you  may  the 
better  see  him  in  his  completeness. ,  Do  you  think  that 
this  period  of  liberty  is  lost  to  him  ?  On  the  very  con- 
trary, it  will  be  time  the  best  employed ;  for  it  is  in  this 
way  that  you  will  learn  not  to  lose  a  single  moment  of  a 
time  that  is  more  precious.  Otherwise,  if  you  begin  to 
act  before  knowing  what  should  be  done,  you  will  act  at 
random ;  and,  liable  to  fall  into  error,  you  will  be  obliged 
to  retrace  your  steps,  and  will  be  further  from  your  pur- 
pose than  if  you  had  been  in  less  haste  to  attain  it. 
Therefore,  be  not  like  the  miser  who  loses  much  through 
his  desire  to  lose  nothing.  In  infancy,  sacrifice  time 
which  you  will  regain  with  interest  at  a  later  period. 
The  wise  physician  does  not  recklessly  give  a  prescription 
at  the  first  sight  of  his  patient ;  but  he  previously  studies 
his  temperament  before  prescribing  for  him ;  he  begins 
late  in  treating  him,  but  he  cures ;  while  the  physician 
who  is  in  overhaste,  kills. 

Recollect  that  before  presuming  to  form  a  man  you 
must  have  become  a  man  yourself ;  you  must  needs-  find 
in  yourself  the  example  which  you  are  to  propose  for 
others.  While  the  child  is  still  without  knowledge,  there 
is  time  to  prepare  whatever  is  to  come  before  him,  so  that 
nothing  shall  engage  his  early  attention  save  objects 
which  it  is  proper  for  him  to  see.  Render  yourself  wor- 
thy the  respect  of  every  one,  and  make  yourself  loved, 
so  that  all  will  try  to  please  you.  You  will  not  be  the 
child's  master  unless  you  control  all  that  surrounds  him, 
and  this  authority  will  never  be  sufficient  unless  it  is 
founded  on  respect  for  your  goodness.  It  is  not  neces- 
sary to  empty  your  purse  and  scatter  your  money  by 
handfuls ;  for  I  have  never  observed  that  money  makes 


62  SMILE. 

any  one  loved.  It  is  not  necessary  that  you  be  avaricious 
and  unfeeling,  nor  content  merely  to  pity  the  wretched- 
ness you  might  relieve ;  but  it  will  be  in  vain  for  you  to 
open  your  coffers,  for,  if  you  do  not  open  your  heart  also, 
the  hearts  of  others  will  forever  remain  closed  to  you. 
It  is  your  time,  your  care,  your  affections,  and  yourself, 
that  you  must  give. 

Here  is  another  reason  why  I  would  bring  up  Emile 
in  the  country,  far  from  the  rabble  of  valets,  far  from  the 
foul  manners  of  cities  which  are  made  seductive  and  con- 
tagious for  children  by  the  varnish  which  covers  them ; 
whereas,  the  vices  of  peasants,  without  anything  to  make 
them  attractive  and  unrelieved  of  their  grossness,  are  more 
likely  to  repel  than  to  seduce,  when  one  has  no  interest  in 
imitating  them. 

In  the  village,  a  tutor  will  have  much  more  control 
over  the  objects  which  he  would  present  to  the  child. 
His  reputation,  his  conversation,  and  his  example  will 
have  an  authority  which  they  could  not  have  in  the  city. 
Being  useful  to  everybody,  each  one  will  be  eager  to 
oblige  him,  to  be  esteemed  by  him,  and  to  appear  as  a 
pupil  just  what  the  master  would  have  him  actually  be ; 
and  if  there  is  no  reformation  from  vice,  there  is  at  least 
no  participation  in  scandal,  and  this  is  all  that  is  required 
for  our  purpose. 

Cease  to  blame  others  for  your  own  faults.  The  evil 
which  children  see  corrupts  them  less  than  the  evil  which 
you  teach  them.  Always  preaching,  always  moralizing, 
always  playing  the  pedant,  for  one  idea  which  you  give 
them  in  the  belief  that  it  is  good,  you  give  them  at  the 
same  time  twenty  others  which  are  worth  nothing.  Full 
of  what  is  passing  in  your  own  head,  you  do  not  see  the 
effect  which  you  are  producing  in  theirs.  In  that  long 
stream  of  words  with  which  you  are  incessantly  tiring 


TEE   CHILD  PROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE   TO  TWELVE.   63 

them,  do  you  think  there  is  not  one  which  is  thus  wrong- 
ly apprehended  ?  Do  you  think  that  they  do  not  com- 
ment in  their  way  on  your  diffuse  explanations,  and  that 
they  do  not  find  in  them  material  for  constructing  a  sys- 
tem of  their  own,  which  they  will  find  occasion  to  set  up 
against  you  ? 

Listen  to  a  little  fellow  whom  you  have  just  indoctri- 
nated :  let  him  chatter,  ask  questions,  and  run  on  at  his 
ease ;  and  you  will  be  surprised  at  the  strange  turn  your 
arguments  have  taken  in  his  mind.  He  confounds  all 
you  have  said,  perverts  your  entire  meaning,  puts  you  out 
of  patience,  and  sometimes  dismays  you  by  unforeseen 
objections.  He  reduces  you  to  silence  or  causes  you  to 
silence  him ;  and  what  can  he  think  of  that  silence  on 
the  part  of  a  man  who  has  such  love  for  talking  ?  If  he 
once  carries  off  this  advantage  and  becomes  conscious  of 
it,  farewell  to  education.  From  this  moment  there  is 
nothing  more  to  be  done ;  he  seeks  no  longer  to  be  in- 
structed, but  searches  for  opportunities  to  refute  your 
arguments. 

Zealous  teachers,  be  simple,  discreet,  reserved,  and 
never  be  in  haste  to  act  save  to  prevent  others  from  act- 
ing. I  shall  never  cease  to  repeat :  discard,  if  it  be  pos- 
sible, a  good  system  of  instruction,  for  fear  of  giving  one 
that  is  bad.  On  this  earth  where  Nature  has  made  the 
first  paradise  of  man,  beware  of  acting  the  part  of  the 
tempter  by  trying  to  give  to  innocence  the  knowledge  of 
good  and  evil.  Xot  being  able  to  prevent  the  child  from 
being  instructed  by  examples  from  without,  limit  all  your 
vigilance  to  impressing  these  examples  on  his  mind  in  a 
form  best  adapted  to  him. 

Your  headstrong  child  spoils  everything  he  touches; 
but  do  not  be  angry  with  him  ;  put  out  of  his  reach  what- 
ever he  can  injure.  If  he  breaks  the  furniture  which  he 


(54  EMILE. 

uses,  be  in  no  haste  to  give  him  more,  but  let  him,  feel 
the  disadvantage  of  its  loss.  If  he  break  the  windows  of 
his  room,  let  the  wind  blow  on  him  night  and  day,  with- 
ont  caring  for  the  cold  he  may  take ;  for  it  is  much  bet- 
ter for  him  to  have  a  cold  than  to  be  a  fool.  Never 
complain  of  the  inconveniences  he  causes  you,  but  let 
him  be  the  first  to  feel  them.  Finally,  you  cause  the 
windows  to  be  repaired,  but  ?  ^ways  without  saying  any- 
thing. If  he  break  them  again,  change  your  method, 
say  to  him  plainly,  but  without  anger :  "  These  windows 
are  mine ;  they  have  been  put  there  by  my  orders,  and  I 
shall  protect  them  from  injury."  You  then  shut  him  up 
in  a  room  where  it  is  dark,  in  a  room  without  windows. 
At  this  new  procedure  he  begins  to  cry  and  storm,  but 
no  one  hears  him.  He  soon  becomes  tired  of  this,  and 
changes  his  tune,  and  whines  and  moans.  The  servant 
appears  and  he  begs  him  to  let  him  out.  Without  seek- 
ing a  pretext  for  not  interfering  in  the  case,  the  servant 
replies,  "/  also  have  windows  to  take  care  of"  and  goes 
away.  Finally,  after  the  child  has  remained  there  for 
several  hours,  long  enough  to  become  weary  of  his  con- 
finement and  to  remember  it,  some  one  suggests  to  him 
to  propose  to  you  an  agreement  whereby  you  shall  set 
him  at  liberty  if  he  will  break  no  more  windows.  He 
will  ask  nothing  better,  he  will  send  for  you  to  come  and 
see  him.  You  go,  and  he  states  to  you  his  proposition, 
which  you  accept  instantly,  while  saying  to  him  :  "  This  is 
a  very  happy  thought  on  your  part,  and  we  shall  both  be 
the  gainers  by  it.  Why  did  not  this  fine  idea  occur  to 
you  sooner  ?  "  And  then,  without  requiring  of  him  either 
a  declaration  or  a  confirmation  of  his  promise,  you  em- 
brace him  with  joy  and  take  him  back  at  once  to  his 
room,  regarding  this  agreement  as  sacred  and  inviolable 
as  though  confirmed  by  an  oath.  What  idea  do  you  think 


THE   CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO   TWELVE.   65 

he  will  form  from  this  procedure  of  the  sacredness  of 
agreements  and  of  their  utility  ?  I  am  mistaken  if  there 
is  in  the  world  a  single  child,  not  already  spoiled,  who  is 
proof  against  this  mode  of  procedure,  and  will  dare  after 
this  to  break  a  window  on  purpose.* 

I  have  now  said  enough  to  make  it  appear  that  pun- 
ishment must  never  be  inflicted  on  children  as  a  punish- 
ment, but  that  it  ought  always  to  come  to  them  as  the 
natural  consequence  of  their  bad  acts.  Thus  you  will  not 
preach  against  lying,  nor  punish  them  just  because  they 
have  lied ;  but  when  they  have  lied  you  will  heap  on  their 
heads  all  the  effects  of  falsehood,  as  not  being  believed 
when  they  have  spoken  the  truth,  and  being  accused  of 
evil  which  they  have  not  done  and  which  they  have  denied. 

For  myself,  who  give  my  pupils  only  practical  lessons, 
and  would  much  rather  have  them  good  than  wise,  I  do 
not  exact  of  them  the  truth,  for  fear  they  may  conceal  it, 
and  I  require  them  to  make  no  promises  which  they  may 
be  tempted  not  to  keep.  If  some  mischief  is  done  in  my 
absence,  and  I  do  not  know  the  author  of  it,  I  shall  for- 
bear to  accuse  Emile  of  it,  or  to  say  to  him,  Did  you  do 
it  ?  f  For  in  this  case  what  else  would  I  do  than  to  teach 

*  This  is  the  "  doctrine  of  consequences,"  which  plays  so  large  a 
part  in  Mr.  Spencer's  chapter  on  Moral  Education.  Rousseau  is 
wiser  and  more  considerate  than  Mr.  Spencer,  for  he  does  not  so 
completely  hand  over  the  child  to  the  heartless  discipline  of  •'  Na- 
ture " ;  by  the  adroit  intervention  of  human  foresight  and  human 
affection  "  Nature  "  is  thwarted  in  her  effort  to  vindicate  the  maj- 
esty of  her  broken  laws,  and  the  erring  child  is  saved.  Under 
prudent  safeguards  children  may  sometimes  be  allowed  to  experi- 
ence the  natural  consequences  of  their  wrong-doing ;  but  to  make 
this  the  standard  and  type  of  school  and  family  discipline  is  in- 
human and  therefore  unnatural. — (P.) 

f  Nothing  is  more  unwise  than  such  a  question,  especially  when 
the  child  is  guilty ;  for  then,  if  he  believes  you  know  what  he  has 


66  tiMILE. 

him  to  deny  it?  And  if  his  willful  disposition  ever  com- 
pels me  to  make  some  agreement  with  him,  I  shall  move 
with  such  precaution  that  the  proposal  shall  always  come 
from  him  and  never  from  me ;  that  when  he  has  made  a 
compact  he  may  always  have  a  present  and  obvious  inter- 
est in  fulfilling  his  agreement ;  and  that,  if  he  ever  breaks 
it,  this  breach  of  faith  may  bring  upon  him  evils  which 
he  knows  proceed  from  the  very  nature  of  things  and  not 
from  the  revenge  of  his  tutor.  But,  far  from  having  need 
to  resort  to  such  cruel  expedients,  I  am  almost  certain 
that  Emile  will  not  learn  until  very  late  what  it  is  to  lie, 
and  that  in  learning  it  he  will  be  very  much  astonished, 
not  being  able  to  conceive  what  advantage  there  is  in 
falsehood.  It  is  very  clear  that,  the  more  I  make  his  wel- 
fare independent  either  of  the  wills  or  of  the  judgments 
of  others,  the  more  I  curtail  in  him  all  interest  in  lying. 

It  is  to  be  observed  that  we  cause  children  to  give 
away  only  things  of  whose  value  they  are  ignorant,  such 
as  pieces  of  metal  which  they  carry  in  their  pocket,  and 
which  serve  them  no  purpose  but  this.  The  child  would 
sooner  give  away  a  hundred  guineas  than  a  cake.  But 
interest  this  prodigal  dispenser  in  giving  away  the  things 
which  are  dear  to  him — his  playthings,  his  sweetmeats,  his 
delicacies — and  we  shall  soon  know  whether  you  have  made 
him  truly  liberal.  Another  expedient  has  been  devised 
for  this  purpose,  and  this  is  to  restore  at  once  to  the  child 
what  he  has  given,  so  that  he  becomes  accustomed  to  give 
whatever  he  is  well  assured  will  be  returned  to  him. 
These  two  kinds  of  generosity  are  almost  the  only  ones 


done,  he  will  see  that  you  are  trying  to  entrap  him,  and  this  belief 
can  not  fail  to  prejudice  him  against  you.  If  he  does  not  believe 
this,  he  will  say  to  himself,  Why  should  I  discover  my  fault?  And 
so  the  direct  effect  of  your  imprudent  question  is  his  first  temptation 
to  falsify. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE   TO  TWELVE.   67 

I  have  observed  in  children ;  they  either  give  what  has  no 
value  to  them,  or  they  give  what  they  are  sure  will  be  re- 
turned to  them.  Proceed  in  such  a  way,  says  Locke, 
that  they  may  be  convinced  by  experience  that  he  who 
is  most  liberal  is  always  the  best  provided  for.  This  is 
to  make  a  child  liberal  in  appearance,  but  avaricious  in 
fact.  He  adds  that  children  will  thus  contract  the  habit 
of  liberality.  Yes,  of  a  usurious  liberality  which  gives  an 
egg  to  gain  an  ox,  but,  when  it  comes  to  giving  in  earnest, 
adieu  to  habit ;  when  we  cease  to  restore  what  they  have 
given,  they  will  soon  cease  to  give.  We  must  consider 
the  habit  of  the  soul  rather  than  that  of  the  hands.  All 
the  other  virtues  which  we  teach  children  resemble  this. 
And  it  is  in  preaching  to  them  these  solid  virtues  that 
we  wear  away  their  young  years  in  dreariness !  Is  not 
this  a  beautiful  education  ! 

Rattle-headed  children  become  commonplace  men.  I 
know  of  no  observation  more  general  and  more  certain 
than  this.  Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  to  distinguish, 
in  infancy,  real  stupidity  from  that  apparent  and  decep- 
tive stupidity  which  is  the  indication  of  strong  characters. 
It  seems  strange,  at  first  sight,  that  the  two  extremes 
should  have  the  same  signs,  and  yet  this  must  needs  be 
so ;  for,  at  an  age  when  the  man  has  as  yet  no  real  ideas, 
all  the  difference  that  exists  between  him  who  has  genius 
and  him  who  has  it  not,  is  that  the  latter  gives  admittance 
only  to  false  ideas,  while  the  former,  finding  no  others, 
gives  admittance  to  none.  In  so  far,  then,  as  one  is 
capable  of  nothing,  and  nothing  is  befitting  the  other, 
both  appear  to  be  stupid.  The  only  sign  that  can  dis- 
tinguish them  depends  on  chance,  which  may  offer  to  the 
last  some  idea  within  his  comprehension,  whereas  the 
first  is  always  and  everywhere  the  same.  During  his 
infancy  the  younger  Cato  seemed  an  imbecile  in  the 


68  EMILE. 

family.  He  was  taciturn  and  obstinate,  and  this  was  all 
the  judgment  that  was  formed  of  him.  It  was  only  in 
the  antechamber  of  Sylla  that  his  uncle  learned  to  know 
him.  If  he  had  not  gone  into  that  antechamber,  perhaps 
he  would  have  passed  for  a  dolt  till  the  age  of  reason. 
If  Csesai'  had  not  lived,  perhaps  men  would  always  have 
treated  as  a  visionary  that  very  Cato  who  penetrated  his 
baleful  genius,  and  foresaw 'all  his  projects  from  afar.  Oh, 
how  liable  to  be  deceived  are  they  who  are  so  precipitate 
in  their  judgments  of  children  !  They  are  often  the  more 
childish.  I  myself  have  seen  a  man*  somewhat  ad- 
vanced in  age,  who  honored  me  with  his  friendship,  who 
was  regarded  by  his  family  and  his  friends  as  lacking  in 
intelligence ;  but  this  was  a  superior  mind  maturing  in 
silence.  All  at  once  he  has  shown  himself  a  philosopher ; 
and  I  doubt  not  that  posterity  will  assign  him  a  dis- 
tinguished and  honorable  place  among  the  best  reasoners 
and  the  most  profound  metaphysicians  of  his  age. 

Eespect  childhood,  and  do  not  hastily  judge  of  it  either 
for  good  or  for  evil.  Allow  a  long  time  for  the  excep- 
tions to  be  manifested,  proved,  and  confirmed,  before 
adopting  special  methods  for  them.  Allow  Nature  to  act 
in  her  place,  for  fear  of  thwarting  her  operations.  You 
know,  you  say,  the  value  of  time  and  do  not  wish  to  waste 
it.  You  do  not  see  that  to  make  a  bad  use  of  time  is 
much  more  wasteful  than  to  do  nothing  with  it ;  and  that 
a  poorly  taught  child  is  further  from  wisdom  than  one 
who  has  not  been  taught  at  all.  You  are  alarmed  at 
seeing  him  consume  his  early  years  in  doing  nothing ! 
Really!  Is  it  nothing  to  be  happy?  Is  it  nothing  to 
jump,  play,  and  run,  all  the  day  long  ?  In  no  other  part 
of  his  life  will  he  be  so  busy.  Plato,  in  his  Republic, 

*  The  Abbe  lie  Condillac. 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   69 

which  is  deemed  so  austere,  brings  up  children  only  in 
festivals,  games,  songs,  and  pastimes.  It  might  be  said 
that  he  has  done  all  when  he  has  really  taught  them  how 
to  enjoy  themselves ;  and  Seneca,  speaking  of  the  ancient 
Roman  youth,  says  they  were  always  on  their  feet,  and 
were  never  taught  anything  which  they  could  learn  while 
seated.*  Were  they  of  less  value  for  this  when  they 
reached  the  age  of  manhood  ?  Be  not  at  all  frightened, 
therefore,  at  this  so-called  idleness.  What  would  you 
think  of  a  man  who,  in  order  to  turn  his  whole  life  to 
profitable  account,  would  never  take  time  to  sleep  ?  You 
will  say  that  he  is  a  man  out  of  his  senses ;  that  he  does  not 
make  use  of  his  time  but  deprives  himself  of  it ;  and  that 
to  fly  from  sleep  is  to  run  toward  death.  Reflect,  there- 
fore, that  this  is  the  same  thing,  and  that  childhood  is 
the  slumber  of  reason. 

The  apparent  facility  with  which  children  learn  is  the 
cause  of  their  ruin.  We  do  not  see  that  this  very  facility 
is  the  proof  that  they  are  learning  nothing.  Their  smooth 
and  polished  brain  reflects  like  a  mirror  the  objects  that 
are  presented  to  it ;  but  nothing  remains,  nothing  pene- 
trates it.  The  child  retains  words,  but  ideas  are  reflected. 
Those  who  hear  these  words  understand  them,  but  the 
child  who  utters  them  does  not. 

Although  memory  and  reasoning  are  two  essentially 

*  Nihil  liberos  suos  docebant,  quod  discendum  esset  jacentibus. 
Epist.  88.  This  same  passage  is  found  in  Montaigne,  liv.  ii,  chap, 
xxi. 

"  It  is  wonderful,"  he  says  again  (liv.  i,  chap,  xxv),  "  what  at- 
tention Plato  gives  in  his  Laws  to  the  amusements  and  pastimes  of 
the  youth  of  his  city;  and  what  care  he  bestows  on  their  races, 
sports,  songSj  leaps,  and  dances.  He  indulges  in  a  thousand  maxims 
for  his  gymnasia,  while  to  the  learned  sciences  he  devotes  but  very 
little  time." 


70 

different  faculties,  yet  the  first  is  not  truly  developed 
save  in  conjunction  with  the  second.  Before  the  age  of 
reason  a  child  does  not  receive  ideas,  but  images ;  and 
there  is  this  difference  between  them :  images  are  but  the 
faithful  pictures  of  sensible  objects,  while  ideas  are  no- 
tions of  objects  determined  by  their  relations.  An  image 
may  exist  alone  in  the  mind  which  forms  the  represen- 
tation of  it ;  but  every  idea  supposes  others.  When  we 
imagine,  we  do  no  more  than  see ;  but  when  we  conceive, 
we  compare.  Our  sensations  are  purely  passive,  whereas 
all  our  perceptions  or  ideas  spring  from  an  active  prin- 
ciple which  judges. 

I  say,  then,  that  children,  not  being  capable  of  judg- 
ment, have  no  real  memory.*  They  retain  sounds,  forms, 

*  The  degradation  of  memory  in  the  scale  of  the  intellectual 
powers  forms  a  curious  and  instructive  chapter  in  the  history  of 
education.  From  a  superstitious  use  of  the  memory  in  the  old  edu- 
cation we  have  come  to  a  period  when  a  studious  mistrust  of  the 
memory  lias  become  a  common  superstition.  Rousseau's  narrow 
construction  of  memory  has  already  been  alluded  to.  To  "  retain 
sounds,  forms,  and  sensation  "  is  real  memory,  and  is  peculiarly  the 
memory  of  children  ;  and  to  retain  "  ideas  and  their  combinations  " 
is  also  memory,  but  is  peculiarly  the  memory  of  the  trained  adult. 

In  the  face  of  the  current  and  authorized  superstition,  it  is  vent- 
uresome to  state  the  heterodox  view  of  this  subject,  but  I  make  the 
venture.  With  respect  to  reason  and  judgment,  and  what  may  be 
called  the  higher  life  of  the  mind,  the  memory  is  a  subsidiary  and 
subordinate  facility,  but  a  faculty  without  which  these  higher  ac- 
tivities can  not  be  maintained.  The  very  possibility  of  education 
is  dependent  on  memory.  We  must  not  only  remember  what  we 
have  understood,  but  we  must  remember  in  order  that  we  may 
understand ;  the  memory  must  hold  not  only  the  finished  products 
of  thought,  but  also  the  crude  materials  for  thinking ;  for  the  elabo- 
rative  process  is  impossible  save  as  aliment  is  held  within  the  range 
of  the  mind's  disintegrating  and  assimilative  powers.  The  memory 
necessarily  precedes  the  intelligence ;  we  must  apprehend  and  hold 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF   FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    7J 

sensations,  but  rarely  ideas,  and  still  more  rarely  their 
combinations.  The  objection  that  they  learn  some  ele- 
ments of  geometry  is  thought  to  be  a  proof  that  I  am 
wrong;  but,  directly  to  the  contrary,  it  is  a  proof  in  my 
favor.  It  is  shown  that,  far  from  knowing  how  to  reason 
for  themselves,  they  can  not  even  retain  the  reasonings  of 
others ;  for  if  you  follow  these  little  geometricians  in  their 
recitations  you  will  at  once  see  that  they  have  retained 
only  the  exact  impression  of  the  figure  and  the  terms  of 
the  demonstration.  If  you  interpose  the  least  unforeseen 
objection  to  the  argument,  or  if  you  reverse  the  figure 
they  are  following,  they  are  at  once  disconcerted.  All  their 
knowledge  is  in  sensation,  and  nothing  has  penetrated  the 
understanding.  Their  memory  itself  is  hardly  more  per- 
fect than  their  other  faculties,  since  they  must  almost 
always  learn  over  again,  when  grown,  the  things  which 
they  learned  by  rote  in  childhood. 

I  am  very  far  from  thinking,  however,  that  children 

in  order  that  we  may  comprehend  and  keep.  This  mental  grasp 
may  be  articulate  and  definite,  as  in  sights  and  sounds  and  verbal 
statements ;  or  it  may  be  inarticulate  and  vague,  as  in  reverie  and 
"  trains  of  thought."  It  is  in  these  two  senses  that  we  remember 
the  text  and  remember  the  sermon.  Facility  in  elaboration  is  de- 
pendent on  a  grasp  that  is  definite  and  firm,  whether  this  grasp  be 
verbal  or  sensitive.  When  and  to  what  extent  this  grasp  should  be 
of  the  articulate  type  is  the  disputed  question. 

The  memory  may  be  charged  without  stimulating  the  elaborative 
process,  and  this  is  doubtless  a  traditional  pedagogic  vice,  but  this 
is  a  vice  of  administration  ;  the  teaching  process  was  only  half  ac- 
complished. The  mind  that  merely  memorizes  becomes  satisfied 
with  storing,  and  its  higher  powers  are  left  unemployed,  just  as  a 
man  may  become  absorbed  in  merely  gaining  without  exercising  the 
higher  virtues  of  benevolence  and  liberality. 

May  a  child  commit  to  memory  what  at  the  time  he  does  not 
understand?  Certainly.  May  he  not  see  and  remember  natural 
phenomena  that  at  the  time  he  does  not  understand  ? — (P.) 


72  EMILE. 

are  incapable  of  any  kind  of  reasoning.*  On  the  con- 
trary, I  see  that  they  reason  very  well  on  whatever  they 
know,  and  on  whatever  is  related  to  their  present  and 
obvious  interests.  But  it  is  with  respect  to  their  knowl- 
edge that  we  are  deceived.  We  give  them  credit  for 
knowledge  which  they  do  not  have,  and  make  them  reason 
on  matters  which  they  can  not  comprehend.  We  are  de- 
ceived, moreover,  in  trying  to  make  them  attentive  to 
considerations  which  in  no  wise  affect  them,  as  that  of 
their  prospective  interest,  of  their  happiness  when  grown 
to  be  men,  or  of  the  esteem  in  which  they  will  be  held 
when  they  have  become  great — talk  which,  addressed  to 
creatures  deprived  of  all  foresight,  has  absolutely  no  sig- 
nificance for  them.  Now,  all  the  premature  studies  of 
these  unfortunates  relate  to  objects  entirely  foreign  to 
their  minds ;  and  we  may  judge  of  the  attention  which 
they  can  give  to  them. 

*  It  has  occurred  to  me  a  hundred  times  while  writing  that  it  is 
impossible  in  a  long  work  always  to  give  the  same  sense  to  the 
same  words.  There  is  no  language  rich  enough  to  furnish  terms, 
turns,  and  phrases  enough  to  equal  the  possible  modifications  of  our 
ideas.  The  method  of  defining  all  the  terms,  and  of  constantly 
substituting  the  definition  in  place  of  the  thing  defined,  is  very  well, 
but  it  is  impracticable  ;  for  how  shall  we  avoid  running  in  a  circle? 
The  definitions  might  be  good  if  we  did  not  employ  words  in  mak- 
ing them.  Notwithstanding  this,  I  am  persuaded  that  one  can  be 
clear,  even  in  the  poverty  of  our  language,  not  by  always  giving  the 
same  acceptation  to  the  same  words,  but  by  proceeding  in  such  a 
way  that  whenever  a  given  word  is  employed  the  acceptation  given 
it  shall  be  sufficiently  determined  by  the  ideas  which  are  connected 
with  it,  and  that  each  sentence  where  this  word  is  found  shall  be, 
so  to  speak,  its  definition.  At  one  time  I  say  that  children  are  in- 
capable of  reasoning,  and  at  another  I  make  them  reason  with  con- 
siderable acuteness.  In  doing  this  I  do  not  think  I  contradict 
myself  in  my  ideas,  but  I  can  not  deny  that  I  often  contradict  my- 
self in  my  expressions. 


1'HE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.   73 

The  pedagogues  who  make  such  a  great  display  of 
the  subjects  which  they  teach  their  disciples  are  paid  to 
speak  of  this  matter  in  different  terms ;  but  we  see  by  their 
own  course  of  action  that  they  think  exactly  as  I  do.  For 
what  do  they  really  teach  their  pupils  ?  Words,  words, 
nothing  but  words.  Among  the  different  sciences  which 
they  boast  of  teaching,  they  are  very  careful  not  to  choose 
those  which  are  really  useful  to  them,  because  they  are 
the  sciences  of  things,  and  they  would  never  succeed  in 
teaching  them;  but  they  prefer  the  sciences  which  we 
seem  to .  know  when  we  have  learned  their  terminology — 
such  as  heraldry,  geography,  chronology,  the  languages, 
etc. — all  of  them  studies  so  remote  from  man,  and  espe- 
cially from  the  child,  that  it  would  be  a  marvel  if  a  single 
item  of  all  this  could  be  useful  *  to  him  once  in  the  course 
of  his  life. 

It  will  seem  surprising  to  some  that  I  include  the 
study  of  languages  among  the  inutilities  of  education ;  but 
it  will  be  recollected  that  I  am  speaking  here  only  of 
primary  studies ;  and  that,  whatever  may  be  thought  of  it, 
I  do  not  believe  that,  up  to  the  age  of  twelve  or  fifteen 
years,  any  child,  prodigies  excepted,  has  ever  really  learned 
two  languages. 

I  grant  that  if  the  study  of  languages  were  but  the 
study  of  words — that  is,  of  the  forms  or  the  sounds  which 
express  them — it  might  be  suitable  for  children ;  but  lan- 
guages, by  changing  the  symbols,  also  modify  the  ideas. 

*  The  reader  will  note  the  narrow  sense  in  which  the  term  useful 
is  employed.  In  this  sense  geography  is  of  very  little  use  in  the  way 
of  what  Mr.  Spencer  calls  "  guidance  " ;  and  the  same  may  be  said 
of  astronomy,  history,  and  literature ;  but  on  the  assumption  that 
we  are  to  be  something  as  a  necessary  condition  of  doing  something, 
these  subjects  serve  higher  uses  than  any  which  seem  to  have  been 
in  Rousseau's  mind. — (P.) 


74  EMILE. 

which  they  represent.  Languages  have  their  several  and 
peculiar  effects  in  the  formation  of  the  intellectual  facul- 
ties— the  thoughts  are  tinged  by  their  respective  idioms. 
The  only  thing  common  to  languages  is  the  reason.  The 
spirit  of  each  language  has  its  peculiar  form,  and  this 
difference  is  doubtless  partly  the  cause  and  partly  the 
effect  of  national  characteristics.  This  conjecture  seems 
to  be  confirmed  by  the  fact  that,  among  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  language  follows  the  vicissitudes  of  manners, 
and  is  preserved  pure  or  is  corrupted  just  as  they  are. 

Use  has  given  one  of  these  different  forms  of  thought 
to  the  child,  and  it  is  the  only  one  which  he  preserves  to 
the  age  of  reason.  In  order  to  have  two  of  these  forms,  he 
must  needs  know  how  to  compare  ideas ;  and  how  can  he 
compare  them  when  he  is  hardly  in  a  condition  to  conceive 
them  ?  Each  thing  may  have  for  him  a  thousand  different 
symbols ;  but  each  idea  can  have  but  one  form.  Hence, 
he  can  learn  to  speak  but  one  language.  Nevertheless, 
we  are  told  that  he  learns  to  speak  several.  This  I  deny. 
I  have  seen  such  little  prodigies  that  thought  they  were 
speaking  five  or  six  languages.  I  have  heard  them  speak 
German  in  terms  of  Latin,  French,  and  Italian,  respect- 
ively. In  fact,  they  used  five  or  six  vocabularies,  but  they 
spoke  nothing  but  German.  In  a  word,  give  children  as 
many  synonyms  as  you  please,  and  you  will  change  the 
words  they  utter,  but  not  the  language ;  they  will  never 
know  but  one. 

It  is  to  conceal  their  inaptitude  in  this  respect  that 
they  are  drilled  by  preference  on  dead  languages,  since 
there  are  no  longer  judges  of  those  who  may  be  called  to 
testify.  The  familiar  use  of  these  languages  having  for  a 
long  time  been  lost,  we  are  content  to  imitate  the  remains 
of  them  which  we  find  written  in  books ;  and  this  is  what 
we  call  speaking  them.  If  such  is  the  Greek  and  Latin 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  75 

of  the  teachers,  we  may  imagine  what  the  Greek  and 
Latin  of  children  is !  Scarcely  have  they  learned  by 
heart  the  rudiments  of  these  languages,  of  which  they 
understand  absolutely  nothing,  when  they  are  taught, 
first  to  turn  a  French  discourse  into  Latin  words ;  and 
then,  when  they  are  more  advanced,  to  tack  together  in 
prose,  sentences  from  Cicero,  and  in  verse,  scraps  from 
Virgil.  Then  they  think  that  they  are  speaking  Latin, 
and  who  is  there  to  contradict  them  ? 

In  any  study  whatever,  representative  signs  are  of  no 
account  without  the  idea  of  the  things  represented.  The 
child,  however,  is  always  restricted  to  these  signs  without 
ever  being  made  to  comprehend  any  of  the  things  which 
they  represent.  We  imagine  that  we  are  teaching  him  a 
description  of  the  earth,  but  we  are  merely  teaching  him  to 
know  maps.  We  teach  him  the  names  of  cities,  countries, 
and  rivers,  but  he  conceives  them  as  existing  nowhere 
save  on  the  paper  where  they  are  pointed  out  to  him.  I 
recollect  having  somewhere  seen  a  geography  which  began 
in  this  wise :  What  is  the  world  ?  It  is  a  globe  of  paste- 
board. This  is  precisely  the  geography  of  children.  I  dare 
assert  that,  after  studying  cosmography  and  the  sphere 
for  two  years,  there  is  not  a  single  child  of  ten  who,  by 
the  rules  which  have  been  given  him,  can  go  from  Paris 
to  Saint  Denis.  I  dare  assert  that  there  is  not  one  who, 
from  the  plan  of  his  father's  garden,  can  follow  its  wind- 
ing paths  without  becoming  lost.  These  are  the  doctors 
that  know  exactly  where  Pekin,  Ispahan,  and  Mexico  are, 
and  all  the  countries  of  the  earth  ! 

I  hear  it  said  that  children  should  be  occupied  with 
studies  where  only  eyes  are  needed.  This  might  be,  if 
there  were  such  a  study ;  but  I  know  of  none  such. 

By  a  still  more  ridiculous  mistake,  they  are  made  to 
study  history ;  and  history  is  supposed  to  be  within  their 


76  EMILE. 

reach  because  it  is  merely  a  collection  of  facts.  But 
what  do  we  understand  by  this  word  facts?  Is  it  pre- 
sumed that  the  relations  which  determine  historical  facts 
are  easy  to  grasp,  and  that  ideas  are  formed  from  them 
without  difficulty  in  the  minds  of  children  ?  Is  it  sup- 
posed that  real  knowledge  of  events  is  separable  from  that 
of  their  causes  and  effects ;  and  that  the  historical  is  so 
little  dependent  on  the  moral  that  one  can  be  known 
without  the  other?  If  you  see  in  human  actions  only 
external  and  purely  physical  movements,  what  do  you 
learn  from  history  ?  Absolutely  nothing  ;  and  this  study, 
divested  of  all  interest,  gives  you  no  more  pleasure  than 
instruction.  If  you  would  estimate  these  actions  by  their 
moral  relations,  try  to  make  these  relations  understood  by 
your  pupils,  and  you  will  then  see  whether  history  ig 
adapted  to  their  age.* 

Readers,  always  bear  in  mind  that  he  who  speaks  to  you 
is  neither  a  scholar  nor  a  philosopher,  but  a  plain  man,  a 
friend  of  truth,  attached  to  no  system  or  party ;  a  recluse, 
who,  living  little  among  men,  has  fewer  occasions  for  being 
imbued  with  their  prejudices,  and  more  time  for  reflecting 
on  what  strikes  him  when  he  associates  with  them.  My  ar- 
guments are  founded  less  on  principles  than  on  facts ;  and 
I  imagine  I  can  not  better  put  you  in  a  condition  to  judge 
of  them  than  by  frequently  reporting  to  you  some  instance 
of  the  observations  which  have  suggested  them  to  me. 

*  The  same  objection  would  lie  against  teaching  facts  of  any 
sort.  The  relation  of  fact  to  fact  may  be  more  important  than  the 
facts  themselves,  but  how  can  this  relation  be  discovered  unless  the 
facts  are  previously  learned  I  It  is  enough  that  the  child  learn  his- 
torical facts,  events,  and  narrations.  For  him  this  is  history.  Nei- 
ther geography,  literature,  nor  history  can  be  taught  on  the  experi- 
mental plan,  and  very  naturally  Rousseau  has  a  small  opinion  of 
their  value. — (P.) 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF   FIVE   TO   TWELVE.   7J 

I  once  spent  a  few  days  in  the  country  at  the  house 
of  a  lady  who  took  great  interest  in  the  education  of  her 
children.  One  morning  as  I  was  present  at  the  lesson  of 
the  eldest,  his  tutor,  who  had  very  thoroughly  instructed 
him  in  ancient  history,  calling  up  the  story  of  Alexander, 
dwelt  on  the  well-known  incident  of  his  physician  Philip, 
which  has  often  been  represented  on  canvas,  and  is  surely 
well  worth  the  trouble.*  The  tutor,  a  man  of  worth, 
made  several  reflections  on  the  intrepidity  of  Alexander 
which  did  not  please  me,  but  which  I  refrained  from  com- 
bating in  order  not  to  discredit  him  in  the  estimation  of 
his  pupil.  At  table,  according  to  the  French  custom, 
there  was  no  lack  of  effort  to  make  the  little  fellow  chat- 
ter with  great  freedom. 

After  dinner,  suspecting  from  several  indications  that 
my  young  savant  had  comprehended  nothing  whatever  of 
the  history  that  had  been  so  finely  recited  to  him,  I  took 
him  by  the  hand  and  we  made  the  tour  of  the  park  to- 
gether. Having  questioned  him  with  perfect  freedom,  I 
found  that  he  admired  the  boasted  courage  of  Alexander 
more  than  any  other  one  of  the  company ;  but  can  you 
imagine  in  what  particular  he  saw  his  courage  ?  It  was 
merely  in  the  fact  of  having  swallowed  at  a  single  draught 
a  disagreeable  potion  without  hesitation,  without  the  least 
sign  of  disgust.  The  poor  child,  who  had  been  made  to 
take  medicine  not  a  fortnight  before,  and  who  had  swal- 
lowed it  only  after  infinite  effort,  still  had  the  taste  of  it 
in  his  mouth.  In  his  mind,  death  and  poisoning  passed 

*  See  Quintus  Curtius,  lib.  iii,  chap.  vi.  The  same  incident  is 
thus  related  by  Montaigne :  "  Alexander  having  been  informed  by 
a  letter  from  Parmenion  that  Philip,  his  most  esteemed  physician, 
had  been  bribed  by  Darius  to  poison  him,  at  the  same  moment  that 
he  gave  to  Philip  Parmenion's  letter  to  read,  drank  the  beverage 
which  he  had  presented  to  him  "  (liv.  i,  chap,  xxiii.) 


78  tiMILE. 

for  disagreeable  sensations,  and  he  could  conceive  no 
other  poison  than  senna.  However,  it  must  be  acknowl- 
edged that  the  firmness  of  the  hero  had  made  a  strong 
impression  on  his  young  heart,  and  that  he  had  resolved 
to  be  an  Alexander  the  very  first  time  he  should  find  it 
necessary  to  swallow  medicine.  Without  entering  into 
explanations  which  were  evidently  beyond  his  capacity,  I 
confirmed  him  in  these  laudable  intentions,  and  I  returned 
laughing  in  my  sleeve  at  the  exalted  wisdom  of  parents  and 
teachers  who  think  that  they  can  teach  history  to  children. 

It  is  easy  to  put  into  their  mouths  the  words  Icings, 
empires,  wars,  conquests,  revolutions,  and  laws  ;  but  when 
it  comes  to  attaching  definite  ideas  to  these  words,  there 
will  be  a  long  distance  between  all  these  explanations  and 
the  conversation  with  Eobert  the  gardener. 

Unless  words  alone  can  convey  a  science,  there  is  no 
study  adapted  to  children.  If  they  have  no  real  ideas, 
there  is  no  real  memory ;  for  I  do  not  call  such,  that  which 
retains  only  sensations.  Of  what  good  is  it  to  inscribe  in 
their  heads  a  catalogue  of  signs  which  represent  nothing 
to  them?  In  learning  things  will  they  not  also  learn 
signs?  Why  give  them  the  useless  trouble  of  learning 
them  twice  ?  And  yet,  with  what  dangerous  prejudices 
do  we  not  begin  to  inspire  them  when  we  make  them 
accept  for  science  words  which  have  no  meaning  for 
them  !  It  is  with  the  first  word  which  a  child  accepts 
without  caring  for  its  meaning,  and  with  the  first  thing 
that  he  learns  on  the  authority  of  others  without  seeing 
its  utility  for  himself,  that  he  begins  to  sacrifice  his  judg- 
ment ;  and  he  will  have  a  long  time  to  shine  in  the  eyes 
of  fools  before  he  can  repair  such  a  loss.* 

*  Most  scholars  are  such  after  the  manner  of  children.  Their 
vast  erudition  results  less  from  a  multitude  of  ideas  than  from  a 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE   OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  79 

Xo ;  if  Xature  gives  to  a  child's  brain  that  plasticity 
which  renders  it  capable  of  receiving  all  sorts  of  impres- 
sions, it  is  not  for  the  purpose  of  engraving  upon  it  the 
names  of  kings,  dates,  terms  in  heraldry,  astronomy,  and 
geography,  and  all  those  words  without  any  meaning  for 
his  age,  and  without  any  utility  for  any  age  whatever, 
with  which  his  sad  and  barren  infancy  is  harassed ;  but 
it  is  in  order  that  all  the  ideas  which  he  can  conceive  and 
which  are  useful  to  him,  all  those  which  relate  to  his 
happiness,  and  are  one  day  to  enlighten  him  as  to  his 
duties,  may  be  traced  there  at  an  early  hour  in  inefface- 
able characters,  and  may  serve  him  for  self-conduct  dur- 
ing his  whole  life  in  a  manner  adapted  to  his  being  and 
to  his  faculties. 

Without  studying  books,  the  kind  of  memory  which  a 
child  may  have  does  not  on  this  account  remain  unem- 
ployed. All  that  he  sees  and  hears  attracts  his  notice, 
and  he  remembers  it.  He  keeps  within  himself  a  register 
of  the  actions  and  conversations  of  men ;  and  all  that 
surrounds  him  is  the  book  from  which,  without  thinking 
of  it,  he  is  continually  enriching  his  memory  while  wait- 
ing till  his  judgment  can  derive  profit  from  it.  It  is  in 
the  choice  of  these  objects,  and  in  the  care  of  presenting 

multitude  of  images.  Dates,  proper  names,  places,  all  objects  iso- 
lated or  divested  of  ideas,  are  retained,  simply  through  the  memory 
of  signs,  and  it  is  rare  that  any  one  of  these  things  is  recalled  with- 
out seeing,  at  the  same  time,  the  right  or  the  left  of  the  page  where 
it  has  been  read,  or  the  figure  under  which  it  was  seen  for  the  first 
time.  Such  was  about  the  science  in  fashion  in  the  last  century. 
That  of  our  century  is  something  else.  We  no  longer  study,  we  no 
longer  observe ;  we  dream,  and  for  philosophy  we  are  given  the 
dreams  of  some  bad  nights.  I  shall  be  told  that  I  am  also  dream- 
ing. I  grant  this,  but  what  others  have  not  refrained  from  doing, 
I  give  my  dreams  for  dreams,  leaving  the  reader  to  inquire  whether 
there  is  something  in  them  useful  to  people  who  are  awake. 


80 

to  him  without  cessation  those  which  he  may  know,  and 
of  concealing  from  him  those  of  which  he  ought  to  be 
ignorant,  that  consists  the  real  art  of  cultivating  in  him 
this  primary  faculty  ;  and  it  is  in  this  way  that  the  effort 
must  be  made  to  form  within  him  a  store-house  of  knowl- 
edge which  may  contribute  to  his  education  during  his 
youth,  and  to  his  conduct  during  the  whole  of  life.  This 
method,  it  is  true,  does  not  produce  little  prodigies,  and 
does  not  reflect  glory  on  governesses  and  tutors ;  but  it 
forms  judicious  and  robust  men,  sound  in  body  and  in 
understanding,  who,  without  making  themselves  admired 
while  young,  make  themselves  honored  when  grown. 

Emile  shall  never  learn  anything  by  heart,  not  even 
fables,  and  not  even  those  of  La  Fontaine,  artless  and 
charming  as  they  are ;  for  the  words  of  fables  are  no  more 
fables  than  the  words  of  history  are  history.  How  can 
one  be  so  blind  as  to  call  fables  the  morals  of  children, 
without  reflecting  that  the  apologue,  while  amusing  them, 
also  deludes  them  ;  that,  while  seduced  by  the  fiction,  they 
allow  the  truth  to  escape  them ;  and  that  the  effort  made 
to  render  the  instruction  agreeable,  prevents  them  from 
profiting  by  it?  Fables  may  instruct  men,  but  children 
must  be  told  the  bare  truth ;  for  the  moment  we  cover 
truth  with  a  veil,  they  no  longer  give  themselves  the  trouble 
.to  lift  it. 

All  children  are  made  to  learn  the  fables  of  La  Fon- 
taine, but  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  understands  them. 
Even  if  they  were  to  understand  them  it  would  be  still 
worse ;  for  the  moral  in  them  is  so  confused,  and  so  out  of 
proportion  to  their  age,  that  it  would  incline  them  to  vice 
rather  than  to  virtue.  These  are  mere  paradoxes,  you 
say.  Possibly ;  but  let  us  see  whether  they  are  not  true. 

I  say  that  a  child  does  not  understand  the  fables  that 
he  is  made  to  learn,  because,  whatever  effort  is  made  to 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE  OF  FIVE   TO  TWELVE.   81 

lender  them  simple,  the  instruction  which  we  wish  to 
draw  from  them  necessarily  brings  into  them  ideas  which 
he  can  not  comprehend,  and  the  poetical— form,  while 
making  them  easier  to  retain,  itself  makes  them  more 
difficult  for  him  to  understand ;  so  that  entertainment  is 
purchased  at  the  expense  of  clearness. 

Observe  children  as  they  are  learning  these  fables,  and 
you  will  see  that  when  they  come  to  make  an  application 
of  them  they  almost  always  adopt  one  contrary  to  the 
intention  of  the  author ;  and  that,  instead  of  becoming 
conscious  of  the  fault  of  which  they  are  to  be  cured,  or 
from  which  they  are  to  be  preserved,  they  are  inclined  to 
love  the  vice  which  turns  the  faults  of  others  to  profitable 
account.  In  the  fable  of  the  Crow  and  the  Fox,  children 
despise  the  crow,  but  they  all  form  a  liking  for  the  fox ; 
and  in  the  fable  of  the  Ant  and  the  Cricket  you  fancy 
you  are  giving  them  the  cricket  *  for  an  example,  but  you 
are  greatly  mistaken :  it  is  the  ant  that  they  will  choose. 
No  one  likes  to  be  humiliated.  They  will  always  take  the 
part  of  the  most  dashing  character ;  this  is  the  choice  of 
self-love,  and  it  is  perfectly  natural.  Now,  what  a  horri- 
ble lesson  this  is  for  children !  The  most  odious  of  all 
monsters  would  be  an  avaricious  and  unfeeling  child,  de- 
liberating between  request  and  refusal.  The  ant  does  still 
more  :  she  teaches  the  child  to  add  insult  to  refusal. 

In  thus  relieving  children  of  all  their  school-tasks,  I 
take  away  the  instruments  of  their  greatest  misery,  name- 
ly, books.  Reading  is  the  scourge  of  infancy,  and  almost 
the  sole  occupation  which  we  know  how  to  give  them. 
At  the  age  of  twelve,  Emile  will  hardly  know  what  a  book 
is.  But  I  shall  be  told  that  it  is  very  necessary  that  he 
know  how  to  read.  This  I  grant.  It  is  necessary  that  he 

Cigctle,  of  course,  means  the  cicada  or  tree-locust. — P. 


know  how  to  read  when  reading  is  useful  to  him.  Until 
then,  it  serves  only  to  annoy  him. 

If  we  ought  to  exact  nothing  from  children  through 
obedience,  it  follows  that  they  can  learn  nothing  of  which 
they  do  not  feel  the  actual  and  present  advantage,  either 
on  the  score  of  pleasure  or  of  utility ;  otherwise,  what 
motive  would  induce  them  to  learn  it?  The  art  of  speak- 
ing to  those  who  are  absent  and  of  hearing  them  speak  in 
turn,  the  art  of  communicating  to  them  at  a  distance 
and  without  the  intervention  of  another,  our  feelings,  our 
wishes,  and  our  desires,  is  an  art  whose  utility  may  be 
made  sensible  to  people  of  every  age.  Through  what 
wonder-working  has  an  art  so  useful  and  so  agreeable 
become  a  torment  to  infancy  ?  It  is  because  children 
have  been  constrained  to  apply  themselves  to  it  against 
their  wills,  and  because  it  has  been  turned  to  uses  which 
they  do  not  at  all  comprehend.  A  child  is  not  very 
anxious  to  perfect  the  instrument  with  which  he  is  being 
tormented ;  but  make  this  instrument  contribute  to  his 
pleasures,  and  he  will  at  once  apply  himself  to  it  in  spite 
of  you. 

A  great  ado  has  been  made  about  finding  the  best 
methods  of  teaching  children  to  read.  Cabinets  and 
charts  have  been  invented,  and  the  child's  apartment  has 
been  turned  into  a  printing-office.  Locke  would  have 
him  learn  to  read  by  means  of  dice.  Was  not  that  a 
happy  invention  ?  What  useless  effort !  A  surer  means 
than  all  these,  and  the  one  which  is  always  forgotten,  is 
the  desire  to  learn.  Give  the  child  this  desire,  and  you 
may  lay  aside  your  cabinets  and  dice.  Every  method  will 
be  a  good  one. 

Present  interest  is  the  grand  motive  power,  the  only  one 
which  leads  with  certainty  to  great  results.  Emile  some- 
times receives  from  his  parents,  relatives,  or  friends,  notes 


,    THE  CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF   FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   83 

of  invitation  for  a  dinner,  a  walk,  a  boat-ride,  or  to  see 
some  public  entertainment.  These  notes  are  short,  clear, 
concise,  and  well  written.  Some  one  must  be  found  to 
read  them  to  him,  and  this  person  is  either  not  always  to 
be  found  at  the  right  moment,  or  he  is  as  little  disposed 
to  accommodate  the  child  as  the  child  was  to  please  him 
the  evening  before.  In  this  way  the  moment  passes,  and 
the  occasion  is  lost.  Finally,  the  note  is  read  to  him, 
but  it  is  too  late.  Ah !  if  one  could  read  for  himself ! 
Other  notes  are  received.  How  short  they  are!  How 
interesting  the  matter  is !  The  child  would  make  an  at- 
tempt to  decipher  them,  and  at  one  time  finds  some  help 
and  at  another  meets  with  refusal.  Finally,  after  a  great 
effort,  the  half  of  one  note  is  deciphered,  and  it  speaks 
of  going  out  to  eat  cream  to-morrow ;  but  where  or  with 
whom,  no  one  knows.  What  an  effort  is  now  made  to 
read  the  rest  of  the  note  !  I  do  not  believe  that  Emile 
has  need  of  a  cabinet.  Shall  I  speak  at  present  of  writ- 
ing ?  Xo ;  I  am  ashamed  to  spend  my  time  with  such 
nonsense  in  a  treatise  on  education. 

I  will  add  this  one  remark  which  constitutes  an  im- 
portant maxim — viz.,  we  usually  obtain  very  surely  and 
very  quickly  what  we  are  in  no  haste  to  obtain.  I  am 
almost  certain  that  Emile  will  know  how  to  read  and 
write  perfectly  before  the  age  of  ten,  precisely  because  I 
care  but  very  little  whether  he  learns  these  things  before 
the  age  of  fifteen.  I  would  much  rather  he  would  never 
know  how  to  read  than  to  buy  this  knowledge  at  the  price 
of  all  that  can  make  it  useful.  Of  what  use  would  read- 
ing be  to  him  after  he  had  been  disgusted  with  it  for- 
ever? 

If,  in  accordance  with  the  plan  I  have  begun  to  trace, 
you  follow  rules  directly  contrary  to  those  which  are  in 
use  i  if,  instead  of  transporting  the  mind  of  your  pupil 


84 

io  a  distance ;  if,  instead  of  incessantly  leading  him  astray 
in  other  places,  in  other  climates,  in  other  centuries,  to 
the  extremities  of  the  earth,  and  even  into  the  heavens, 
you  make  it  your  study  to  make  him  always  self-con- 
tained and  attentive  to  whatever  immediately  affects  him 
— then  you  will  always  find  him  capable  of  perception,  of 
memory,  and  even  of  reasoning :  this  is  the  order  of  Na- 
ture. In  proportion  as  a  sensitive  being  becomes  active, 
he  acquires  a  discernment  proportional  to  his  powers ;  and 
it  is  only  with  the  power  which  is  in  excess  of  what  is 
needed  for  self -conservation  that  there  comes  to  be  de- 
veloped in  him  the  speculative  faculty  suitable  for  em- 
ploying that  excess  of  power  for  other  uses.  If,  then, 
you  would  cultivate  the  intelligence  of  your  pupil,  culti- 
vate the  power  which  it  is  to  govern.  Give  his  body  con- 
tinual exercise ;  make  him  robust  and  sound  in  order  to 
make  him  wise  and  reasonable ;  let  him  work,  and  move 
about,  and  run,  and  shout,  and  be  continually  in  motion ; 
let  him  be  a  man  in  vigor,  and  soon  he  will  be  such  by 
force  of  reason. 

You  will  stultify  him  by  this  method,  it  is  true,  if  you 
are  always  directing  him,  always  saying  to  him,  Go,  come, 
stop,  do  this,  do  not  do  that.  If  your  head  is  always 
directing  his  arms,  his  own  head  will  become  useless  to 
him.  But  bear  in  mind  our  agreement ;  if  you  are  but 
a  pedant,  it  is  not  worth  your  while  to  read  this  book. 

It  is  a  very  deplorable  error  to  imagine  that  the  exer- 
cise of  the  body  is  injurious  to  the  operations  of  the  mind  ; 
as  if  these  two  activities  were  not  to  proceed  in  concert, 
and  the  second  were  not  always  to  direct  the  first ! 

Subject  in  everything  to  an  authority  that  is  always 
teaching,  your  pupil  does  nothing  except  at  the  word  of 
command.  He  does  not  dare  eat  when  he  is  hungry, 
laugh  when,  he  is  pleased,  weep  when  he  is  sad,  present 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO  TWELVE.   85 

one  hand  for  the  other,  or  move  his  foot,  save  as  he  has 
been  ordered  to  do  it;  and  very  soon  he  will  not  dare 
breathe  save  according  to  your  rules.  To  what  purpose 
do  you  desire  to  have  him  think  if  you  do  all  his  think- 
ing for  him  ?  Assured  of  your  foresight,  what  need  has 
he  of  any  ?  Seeing  that  you  charge  yourself  with  his  con- 
servation and  well-being,  he  feels  himself  relieved  from 
this  anxiety.  His  judgment  reposes  on  yours ;  whatever 
you  do  not  forbid  him  to  do  he  does  without  reflection, 
well  knowing  that  he  does  it  without  risk.  What  need 
has  he  of  learning  to  foretell  rain  ?  He  knows  that  you 
observe  the  clouds  for  him.  Why  should  he  determine 
the  length  of  his  walk  ?  He  has  no  fear  that  you  will  let 
him  pass  the  dinner-hour.  So  far  as  you  do  not  forbid 
him  to  eat,  he  eats ;  he  no  longer  listens  to  the  advice  of 
his  stomach,  but  to  your  commands.  It  is  in  vain  for 
you  to  soften  his  body  in  inaction,  for  by  this  means  you 
will  not  render  his  understanding  the  more  flexible. 
Directly  to  the  contrary,  you  will  succeed  in  discrediting 
his  reason  by  making  him  use  the  little  he  has  of  it  on 
the  things  which  seem  to  him  most  useless.  Never  see- 
ing the  worth  of  it,  he  finally  comes  to  the  conclusion 
that  it  is  good  for  nothing.  The  worst  that  can  happen 
to  him  from  his  bad  reasoning  is  to  be  worsted  in  argu- 
ment, and  this  happens  to  him  so  often  that  he  scarcely 
thinks  of  it;  the  danger  that  is  so  common  no  longer 
frightens  him. 

As  for  my  pupil,  or  rather  the  pupil  of  Nature, 
early  trained  to  rely  on  himself  as  much  as  possible,  he 
is  not  in  the  habit  of  constantly  resorting  to  others, 
and  still  less  of  displaying  to  them  his  great  learning. 
On  the  other  hand,  he  judges,  foresees,  and  reasons  on 
everything  which  is  directly  related  to  him.  He  does 
not  prate,  but  he  acts ;  he  does  not  know  a  word  about 


86  EMILE. 

what  is  going  on  in  the  world,  but  he  knows  very  well 
how  to  do  whatever  is  proper  for  him  to  do.  As  he  is 
incessantly  active,  he  is  forced  to  observe  many  things 
and  to  know  many  effects.  He  early  acquires  a  large  ex- 
perience. He  receives  his  lessons  from  Nature,  and  not 
from  men.  He  learns  the  more  rapidly,  from  the  fact 
that  he  nowhere  sees  any  intention  to  instruct  him. 
Thus  his  body  and  his  mind  are  called  into  exercise  at 
the  same  time.  Always  acting  in  accordance  with  his 
own  thought,  and  not  according  to  that  of  another,  he  is 
continually  uniting  two  processes ;  the  stronger  and  the 
more  robust  he  renders  himself,  the  more  sensible  and 
judicious  he  becomes.  This  is  the  means  of  finally  pos- 
sessing two  things  which  are  thought  incompatible,  but 
which  are  found  together  in  almost  all  great  men,  strength 
of  body  and  strength  of  mind,  the  reason  of  a  sage  and 
the  vigor  of  an  athlete. 

Youthful  instructor,  I  am  preaching  to  you  a  difficult 
art,  that  of  governing  without  precept,  and  of  doing  all 
while  doing  nothing.  This  art,  I  allow,  is  not  adapted  to 
your  age ;  it  is  not  calculated  to  give  your  talents  a  brill- 
iant display  at  first,  nor  to  make  you  popular  with  parents ; 
but  it  is  the  only  one  calculated  to  succeed.  You  will 
never  succeed  in  making  scholars  if  you  do  not  at  first 
make  rogues.  This  was  the  education  of  the  Spartans ; 
instead  of  being  made  to  pore  over  books,  they  were  first 
taught  to  steal  their  dinner.  Were  the  Spartans,  when 
grown,  more  boorish  on  this  account?  Who  does  not 
know  the  force  and  wit  of  their  repartees?  Always  in 
readiness  to  conquer,  they  crushed  their  enemies  in  every 
sort  of  conflict,  and  the  babbling  Athenians  stood  as  much 
in  awe  of  their  sayings  as  of  their  blows. 

In  the  most  carefully  conducted  education  the  teacher 
commands  and  fancies  that  he  governs ;  but,  in  fact,  it  is 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   87 

the  child  who  governs.  He  makes  use  of  what  you  exact 
of  him  in  order  to  obtain  from  you  what  is  pleasing  to 
himself ;  and  he  can  always  make  you  pay  for  one  hour  of 
assiduity  by  eight  days  of  compliance.  At  each  instant 
you  must  make  compacts  with  him.  These  treaties  which 
you  propose  in  your  way,  and  which  he  executes  in  his 
own,  always  turn  to  the  gratification  of  his  humors,  espe- 
cially when  you  are  so  unskillful  as  to  put  within  his 
power  what  he  is  very  sure  of  obtaining  whether  he  fulfill 
or  not  his  part  of  the  agreement.  Ordinarily,  the  child 
reads  the  mind  of  his  teacher  much  better  than  the  teacher 
reads  the  heart  of  the  child.  And  this  is  to  be  expected ; 
for  all  the  sagacity  which  the  child,  left  to  himself, 
would  have  employed  in  providing  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  his  person,  he  employs  in  saving  his  natural 
liberty  from  the  chains  of  his  tyrant ;  whereas  the  latter, 
not  having  such  a  pressing  interest  in  penetrating  the 
heart  of  his  pupil,  sometimes  finds  it  more  to  his  advan- 
tage to  leave  him  in  the  enjoyment  of  his  idleness  or  his 
vanity. 

Take  an  opposite  course  with  your  pupil.  Let  him 
always  fancy  that  he  is  the  master,  but  let  it  always  be 
yourself  that  really  governs.  There  is  no  subjection  so 
perfect  as  that  which  preserves  the  appearance  of  liberty ; 
in  this  way,  the  will  itself  is  held  captive.  Is  not  the 
poor  child  who  knows  nothing  and  can  do  nothing  wholly 
at  your  mercy  ?  So  far  as  he  is  concerned,  have  you  not 
the  disposition  of  everything  which  surrounds  him? 
Have  you  not  the  authority  to  affect  him  as  you  please  ? 
His  employments,  his  sports,  his  pleasures,  his  sorrows — 
is  not  everything  in  your  hands  without  his  knowing  it? 
Doubtless  he  ought  to  do  only  what  he  chooses ;  but  he 
ought  to  choose  only  what  you  will  to  have  him  do.  He 
ought  not  to  take  a  step  which  you  have  not  foreseen ;  he 


88  EMILE. 

ought  not  to  open  his  mouth  unless  you  know  what  he  is 
going  to  say. 

Under  these  conditions  the  child  may  freely  indulge 
in  the  physical  exercises  which  his  age  demands  without 
brutalizing  his  mind ;  instead  of  sharpening  his  craftiness 
to  evade  a  distasteful  system  of  domination,  you  will  see 
him  occupied  solely  in  drawing  from  all  that  surrounds 
him  whatever  is  best  adapted  to  promote  his  actual  well- 
being;  and  you  will  be  astonished  at  the  aptness  of  his 
inventions  for  appropriating  all  the  objects  which  are 
within  his  reach,  and  for  really  enjoying  things  without 
borrowing  the  opinions  of  others. 

In  leaving  him  thus  the  master  of  his  purposes,  you 
will  not  foment  his  caprices.  By  never  doing  anything 
which  is  not  pleasing  to  himself,  he  will  very  soon  do  only 
that  which  he  ought  to  do ;  and  though  his  body  is  in  a 
state  of  constant  activity,  so  long  as  his  present  and  obvious 
interest  is  at  stake,  you  will  see  all  the  reason  of  which  he 
is  capable  developing  itself  much  better,  and  in  a  man- 
ner very  much  better  adapted  to  him,  than  in  studies  of 
pure  speculation. 

Thus,  seeing  that  you  are  not  bent  on  thwarting  him, 
never  distrusting  you,  and  having  nothing  to  conceal  from 
you,  he  will  never  deceive  you,  and  will  never  lie  to  you ; 
he  will  show  himself  just  as  he  is,  without  fear ;  and  you 
may  study  him  wholly  at  your  ease,  and  arrange  around 
about  him  lessons  which  you  wish  to  give  him,  without  his 
ever  suspecting  that  he  is  being  taught. 

You  reproach  the  child  with  being  capricious;  but 
you  are  wrong.  The  caprice  of  children  is  never  the  work 
of  Nature,  but  results  from  bad  training.  It  is  because  they 
have  obeyed  or  have  commanded ;  and  I  have  said  a  hun- 
dred times  that  they  must  do  neither.  Your  pupil,  then, 
will  have  only  those  caprices  which  you  have  given  him ; 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF   FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    89 

and  it  is  just  that  you  should  suffer  the  consequences  of 
your  faults. 

These  continual  exercises,  thus  left  wholly  to  the  direc- 
tion of  Nature,  not  only  do  not  brutalize  the  mind  while 
fortifying  the  body,  but,  on  the  contrary,  they  form  with- 
in us  the  only  species  of  reason  of  which  childhood  is 
susceptible,  and  the  most  necessary  at  any  and  all  periods 
of  life.  They  teach  us  thoroughly  to  understand  the  use 
of  our  powers,  the  relations  between  our  own  bodies  and 
surrounding  bodies,  and  the  use  of  the  natural  instru- 
ments which  are  within  our  reach  and  which  are  adapted 
to  our  organs.  Is  there  any  stupidity  like  that  of  a  child 
reared  wholly  in  the  house  and  under  the  eyes  of  his 
mother,  who,  ignorant  of  what  weight  and  resistance  are, 
would  pull  up  a  large  tree  or  lift  a  rock  ?  The  first  time 
I  went  out  of  Geneva  I  attempted  to  follow  a  galloping 
horse,  and  threw  stones  at  the  mountain  of  Saleve  which 
was  two  leagues  away.  The  laughing-stock  of  all  the  chil- 
dren in  the  village,  I  was  a  veritable  idiot  in  their  sight. 
At  eighteen,  we  learn  from  physics  what  a  lever  is ;  but 
there  is  no  little  peasant  of  twelve  who  does  not  know  how 
to  nse  a  lever  better  than  the  first  mechanician  of  the  Acad- 
emy. Lessons  which  scholars  learn  from  each  other  in  a 
college-yard  are  a  hundred  times  more  useful  to  them 
than  all  that  will  ever  be  told  them  in  the  class-room. 

The  first  natural  movements  of  man  being  to  measure 
himself  with  all  that  surrounds  him,  and  to  test  in  each 
object  which  he  perceives  all  the  sensible  qualities  which 
are  capable  of  affecting  him,  his  first  study  is  a  sort  of  ex- 
perimental physics  relative  to  his  own  preservation,  from 
which  he  is  turned  aside  by  speculative  studies  before  he 
has  recognized  his  place  here  below.  While  his  delicate 
and  flexible  organs  can  adjust  themselves  to  the  bodies  on 
which  they  are  to  act ;  while  his  senses,  still  unimpaired, 


90  EMILE. 

are  exempt  from  illusions,  it  is  time  to  put  both  in  action 
on  the  functions  which  are  appropriated  to  them,  and  the 
time  to  ascertain  the  sensible  relations  which  things  have 
with  us.  As  all  that  enters  the  human  understanding 
comes  there  through  the  senses,  the  first  reason  of  man 
is  a  sensuous  reason;  and  it  is  this  which  serves  as  a 
basis  for  the  intellectual  reason.  Our  first  teachers  of 
philosophy  are  our  feet,  our  hands,  and  our  eyes.  To 
substitute  books  for  all  these  is  not  to  teach  us  to  reason, 
but  to  teach  us  to  use  the  reason  of  others  ;  it  is  to  teach 
us  to  believe  much  and  never  to  know  anything. 

In  order  to  practice  an  art,  it  is  necessary  to  begin  by 
procuring  the  instruments  used  in  it ;  and  in  order  to  be 
able  to  employ  these  instruments  usefully,  they  must  be 
made  strong  enough  to  sustain  the  use  made  of  them.  In 
order  to  learn  to  think,  we  must  then  exercise  our  limbs, 
our  senses,  and  our  organs,  which  are  the  instruments  of 
our  intelligence ;  and  in  order  to  derive  all  the  advantage 
possible  from  these  instruments,  it  is  necessary  that  the 
body  which  furnishes  them  should  be  robust  and  sound. 
Thus,  so  far  is  it  from  being  true  that  the  reason  of  man 
is  formed  independently  of  the  body,  it  is  the  happy  con- 
stitution of  the  body  which  renders  the  operations  of  the 
mind  facile  and  sure. 

The  limbs  of  a  growing  child  should  have  plenty  of 
room  in  their  clothing.  Nothing  should  impede  their 
movements  or  their  growth  ;  nothing  should  fit  so  closely 
as  to  pinion  the  body.  French  dress,  uncomfortable  and 
unhealthy  for  men,  is  especially  injurious  for  children. 
The  sluggish  humors,  arrested  in  their  circulation,  stag- 
nate in  a  repose  intensified  by  an  inactive  and  sedentary 
life,  become  corrupted,  and  produce  the  scurvy,  a  disease 
which  is  every  day  becoming  more  common  among  us, 
but  which  was  almost  unknown  among  the  ancients,  who 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO   TWELVE.   91 

were  preserved  from  it  by  their  manner  of  dress  and  life. 
The  hussar  style  of  dress,  far  from  remedying  this  incon- 
venience, really  increases  it,  for,  in  order  to  relieve  chil- 
dren of  some  ligatures,  it  keeps  their  whole  body  in  a 
kind  of  press.  A  better  plan  is  to  let  them  wear  short 
skirts  for  as  long  a  time  as  possible,  then  to  give  them  a 
very  loose  dress,  and  to  take  no  pride  in  showing  off  their 
form,  a  thing  which  serves  only  to  deform  it.  Almost  all 
their  defects  of  body  and  mind  come  from  the  same  cause 
— we  wish  to  make  men  of  them  before  their  time. 

There  should  be  little  or  no  head-dress  at  any  time  of 
the  year.  The  ancient  Egyptians  always  went  bareheaded, 
while  the  Persians  covered  the  head  with  high  tiaras,  and 
they  still  wear  high  turbans,  whose  use,  according  to 
Chardin,  is  made  necessary  by  the  climate  of  the  country. 
In  another  place  *  I  have  mentioned  the  distinction  made 
by  Herodotus  on  a  field  of  battle  between  the  skulls  of  Per- 
sians and  those  of  Egyptians.  As  it  is  important  that  the 
bones  of  the  head  become  harder,  more  compact,  less 
fragile,  and  less  porous,  in  order  the  better  to  protect  the 
brain,  not  only  against  wounds,  but  also  against  colds, 
inflammations,  and  all  the  variations  of  temperature,  accus- 
tom your  children  to  go  bareheaded  summer  and  winter, 
day  and  night.  But,  if  for  cleanliness  and  for  keeping 
their  hair  in  order,  you  would  give  them  a  head-dress  for 
the  night,  let  it  be  a  light  cap  of  open-work,  like  the  net 
in  which  the  Basques  bind  up  their  hair.  I  am  well 
aware  that  most  mothers,  more  affected  by  the  observa- 
tion of  Chardin  than  by  my  reasons,  will  think  the  air  of 
Persia  is  found  everywhere ;  but,  as  for  me,  I  have  not 
chosen  my  European  pupil  in  order  to  make  an  Asiatic 
of  him. 

*  Lettre  a  M.  d'Alembert  sur  les  Spectacles. 


92  EMILE. 

In  general,  children  are  too  warmly  clothed,  especially 
in  infancy.  They  should  be  inured  to  cold  rather  than 
to  heat.  Great  cold  never  disturbs  them  when  they  are 
exposed  to  it  from  early  life ;  but  the  tissue  of  their  skin, 
still  too  tender  and  too  loose,  leaving  too  free  a  passage 
for  perspiration,  exposes  them  through  an  extreme  heat 
to  an  inevitable  exhaustion.  Thus,  it  is  observed  that 
more  children  die  in  the  month  of  August  than  in  any 
other  month.  Moreover,  it  appears  to  be  an  established 
fact,  from  a  comparison  between  the  people  of  the  North 
and  those  of  the  South,  that  an  excess  of  cold  is  more 
favorable  to  robustness  than  an  excess  of  heat.  But  in 
proportion  as  the  child  grows  and  his  fibers  strengthen 
accustom  him,  little  by  little,  to  brave  the  rays  of  the  sun. 
Proceeding  by  degrees,  you  will  inure  him  without  danger 
to  the  ardors  of  the  torrid  zone. 

In  the  midst  of  the  manly  and  sensible  precepts  which 
Locke  gives  us,  he  falls  into  contradictions  which  we 
should  not  expect  from  so  exact  a  reasoner.  This  very 
man,  who  would  have  children  in  summer  bathe  in  cold 
water,  would  not  have  them  drink  cool  water  when  they 
are  warm,  nor  lie  down  on  the  ground  in  damp  places.* 
But  since  he  would  have  the  shoes  let  in  water  at  all 
seasons,  will  they  leak  the  less  when  the  child  is  warm  ? 
And  may  we  not  require  him  to  make  the  same  induc- 
tions from  the  body  with  respect  to  the  feet  that  he 
makes  from  the  feet  with  respect  to  the  hands  and  from 
the  body  with  respect  to  the  face?  If,  I  would  say  to 


*  As  if  little  peasants  selected  very  dry  ground  on  which  to  sit 
or  to  lie,  and  as  if  one  had  ever  heard  say  that  the  dampness  of  the 
earth  had  ever  made  one  of  them  ill !  To  hear  the  doctors  on  this 
subject,  one  would  fancy  that  all  savages  are  impotent  with  rheu 
mat  ism. 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    93 

him  in  reply,  you  would  have  a  man  be  all  face,  why  do 
you  blame  me  for  wishing  him  to  be  all  feet  ?  * 

Children  require  a  long  period  of  sleep,  because  their 
physical  activity  is  extreme.  One  serves  as  a  corrective 
for  the  other,  and  we  thus  see  that  they  have  need  of 
both.  Night  is  the  season  for  repose,*  as  is  indicated  by 
Nature.  It  is  a  common  observation  that  sleep  is  the  more 
tranquil  and  sweet  while  the  sun  is  below  the  horizon,  and 
that  when  the  air  is  warmed  by  its  rays  it  does  not  tend 
to  maintain  our  senses  in  a  state  of  such  great  calmness. 
Thus,  it  is  certainly  the  most  wholesome  habit  to  rise  and 
to  lie  down  with  the  sun.  Whence  it  follows  that  in  our 
climate,  as  a  general  rule,  men  and  animals  need  to  sleep 
longer  in  winter  than  in  summer.  But  civilized  life  is 
not  so  simple,  natural,  and  exempt  from  revolutions  and 
accidents  as  to  justify  us  in  accustoming  man  to  this 
uniformity  to  such  a  degree  as  to  make  it  necessary  for 
him.  Doubtless  we  must  subject  ourselves  to  rules ;  but 
it  is  of  the  first  importance  to  break  them  without  risk 
when  necessity  requires  it.  Therefore,  do  not  commit  the 
indiscretion  of  enervating  your  pupil  by  a  continuous  and 
peaceful  sleep  which  is  never  to  be  interrupted.  At  first 
surrender  him  without  restraint  to  the  law  of  Nature ;  but 
do  not  forget  that,  in  the  present  state  of  society,  he 
ought  to  be  above  this  law — that  he  should  be  able  to  go 
to  bed  late,  to  rise  early,  to  be  abruptly  awakened,  and 
to  sit  up  all  night,  without  being  disturbed  thereby. 

It  is  important  early  to  accustom  ourselves  to  indiffer- 

*  All  this  may  be  very  well  for  savages,  but  if  any  enthusiastic 
disciple  of  Rousseau  or  of  Locke  should  apply  this  hardening  pro- 
cess to  the  children  of  civilized  parents,  the  result  would  be  like 
that  which  followed  Peter  the  Great's  attempt  to  habituate  his 
naval  cadets  to  drinking  sea-water.  —  See  Compayre,  History  of 
Pedagogy,  English  tr.,  p.  198.— (P.) 


94  EMILE. 

ent  lodgings,  for  by  this  means  we  shall  no  longer  find 
poor  beds.  In  general,  a  life  of  endurance,  once  con- 
verted into  habit,  multiplies  our  agreeable  sensations, 
while  a  life  of  ease  prepares  for  a  countless  number  of 
unpleasant  sensations.  People  too  delicately  reared  no 
longer  find  sleep  save  on  a  bed  of  down;  while  people 
accustomed  to  sleep  on  boards  find  it  everywhere.  No 
bed  is  hard  for  one  who  falls  asleep  the  moment  he  lies 
down. 

The  best  bed  is  that  which  brings  us  the  best  sleep. 
It  is  such  a  bed  that  Emile  and  I  prepare  for  ourselves 
during  the  day.  We  do  not  need  to  be  furnished  with 
Persian  slaves  to  make  our  beds;  for  while  tilling  the 
earth  we  are  shaking  up  our  mattresses. 

I  shall  sometimes  awaken  Emile,  less  from  the  fear 
that  he  may  form  the  habit  of  sleeping  too  long  than  for 
the  purpose  of  accustoming  him  to  everything,  even  to 
being  abruptly  awakened.  Besides,  I  should  be  poorly 
qualified  for  my  employment  if  I  could  not  force  him  to 
awaken  of  himself,  and  to  get  up,  so  to  speak,  at  my  com- 
mand, without  my  saying  a  single  word  to  him. 

If  he  does  not  sleep  enough,  I  allow  him  to  foresee  for 
the  following  day  a  tedious  morning ;  and  he  will  regard 
as  a  clear  gain  whatever  part  of  it  he  can  devote  to  sleep. 
If  he  sleep  too  much,  I  show  him  on  rising  an  amusement 
which  he  likes.  If  I  wish  him  to  waken  at  a  given  moment, 
I  say  to  him :  "  To-morrow  morning  at  six  o'clock  we  will 
go  a-fishing,  or  we  will  take  a  walk  to  such  a  place ;  would 
you  like  to  go  ?  "  He  consents  and  begs  me  to  awaken 
him ;  I  promise,  or  do  not  promise,  to  do  so,  as  seems 
best ;  but  if  he  awakens  too  late,  he  finds  me  gone.  It 
will  be  unfortunate  if  he  does  not  soon  learn  to  awake  of 
himself. 

How  shall  we  proceed  with  our  pupil  in  regard  to 


THE   CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  95 

the  danger  from  small-pox?  Shall  we  have  him  inocu- 
lated for  it  in  infancy,  or  shall  we  wait  for  him  to  take  it 
in  the  natural  way  ?  The  first  course,  more  in  conformity 
with  our  practice,  shields  from  peril  the  age  when  life  is 
most  precious,  at  the  risk  of  that  age  when  life  is  of  the 
least  account — if  indeed  we  can  give  the  name  risk  to 
inoculation  wisely  administered. 

But  the  second  course  is  more  in  accord  with  our 
general  principles — of  giving  to  Nature  a  complete  laisser 
faire  in  the  attentions  which  she  loves  to  give  alone, 
and  which  she  abandons  the  moment  man  attempts  to 
interfere.  The  man  of  Nature  is  always  prepared.  Let 
him  be  inoculated  by  this  tutor,  for  she  will  choose  better 
than  we  can  the  moment  that  is  best. 

Do  not  draw  the  conclusion  from  this  that  I  censure 
inoculation,  for  the  grounds  on  which  I  exempt  my  pupil 
from  it  would  be  very  wrong  with  respect  to  yours.  Your 
education  entirely  prevents  them  from  escaping  from  the 
small-pox  whenever  they  are  exposed  to  it;  and  if  you 
allow  it  to  come  whenever  it  will,  it  is  probable  that  they 
will  die  of  it.  I  observe  that,  in  different  countries, 
inoculation  is  more  violently  opposed  in  those  places 
where  it  becomes  the  more  necessary,  and  it  is  easy  to  see 
the  reason  of  this.  So  I  shall  hardly  stop  to  discuss  this 
question  for  my  Emile.  He  shall  be  inoculated,  or  he 
shall  not  be,  as  time,  place,  and  circumstance  may  deter- 
mine— it  is  to  him  almost  a  matter  of  indifference.  If 
he  take  the  small-pox  through  inoculation,  we  shall  have 
the  advantage  of  foreseeing  his  disease  and  of  knowing 
what  to  expect,  and  this  is  something ;  but  if  he  take  it 
naturally,  we  shall  have  saved  him  from  the  doctor,  and 
this  is  even  more. 

We  fear  a  child  may  drown  while  learning  to  swim ; 
but  whether  he  drowns  while  learning,  or  from  not  having 


06 

learned,  it  will  be  in  all  cases  your  own  fault.  It  is  vanity 
alone  which  makes  us  rash ;  we  are  not  foolhardy  when 
no  one  is  observing  us ;  and  Emile  would  not  be  so  though 
the  whole  universe  were  looking  on.  As  exercise  does  not 
consist  in  taking  risks,  while  swimming  in  a  canal  of  his 
father's  park  he  might  learn  to  cross  the  Hellespont. 
But  he  must  be  familiarized  with  peril  in  order  that .  he 
may  not  be  affected  by  it,  and  this  is  an  essential  part  of 
the  apprenticeship  of  which  I  spoke  just  now.  Moreover, 
careful  to  proportion  the  danger  to  the  powers  at  his 
command,  and  always  to  share  it  with  him,  I  shall  hardly 
have  any  imprudence  to  fear  when  I  regulate  my  care 
for  his  preservation  by  that  which  I  owe  to  my  own. 

To  exercise  the  senses  is  not  merely  to  make  use  of 
them,  but  it  is  to  learn  how  to  judge  by  them ;  and  it  is 
also,  so  to  speak,  to  learn  how  to  feel,  for  we  neither 
know  how  to  touch,  nor  to  see,  nor  to  hear,  save  as  we 
have  been  taught.* 

There  is  an  exercise  purely  natural  and  mechanical 
which  serves  to  render  the  body  robust  without  giving 
any  hold  on  the  judgment,  f  Swimming,  running,  jump- 
ing, spinning  a  top,  throwing  stones,  are  all  very  well ; 
but  have  we  only  arms  and  legs  ?  Have  we  not  also  eyes 

*  This  remark  is  especially  true  with  respect  to  the  discernment 
of  harmony  and  beauty.  It  is  the  business  of  education  to  reveal 
and  to  interpret.  The  world  is  a  x^tr/tos  only  to  those  who  have 
been  taught  the  art  of  aesthetic  discernment. — (P.) 

f  When  so  much  is  said  about  the  intellectual  value  of  manual 
training,  it  is  well  to  recollect  the  truth  of  this  observation.  The 
only  way  to  train  the  mind  is  to  call  it  into  exercise,  and  the  mo- 
ment any  form  of  labor  becomes  automatic,  as  it  speedily  does  and 
must,  it  ceases  to  make  any  demands  on  the  intelligence,  and  there- 
fore ceases  to  have  an  education  value.  The  best  intellectual  train- 
ing will  always  be  found  not  among  those  who  use  their  hands 
most,  but  among  those  who  use  their  brains  most. — (P.) 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   97 

and  ears  ?  And  arc  these  organs  superfluous  with  respect 
to  the  use  of  the  first?  Therefore  do  not  exercise  the 
child's  strength  alone,  but  call  into  exercise  all  the  senses 
which  direct  it.  Draw  from  each  of  them  all  the  advan- 
tage possible,  and  then  employ  one  to  verify  the  impression 
made  by  another.  Measure,  count,  weigh,  compare,  and  do 
not  employ  force  till  after  having  estimated  the  resistance. 
Always  proceed  in  such  a  way  that  an  estimate  of  the 
effect  shall  precede  the  use  of  means.  Teach  the  child 
never  to  make  insufficient  or  superfluous  efforts.  If  you 
accustom  him  thus  to  foresee  the  effect  of  all  his  move- 
ments, and  to  correct  his  errors  by  experience,  is  it  not 
clear  that  the  more  he  acts  the  more  judicious  he  will 
become  ? 

If,  in  undertaking  to  move  a  mass,  he  take  too  long  a 
lever,  he  will  employ  too  much  motion ;  and  if  the  lever 
be  too  short,  he  will  not  have  power  enough.  Experience 
will  thus  teach  him  to  choose  the  fulcrum  that  is  neces- 
sary. This  wisdom  is  not  above  his  age.  If  a  burden  is 
to  be  carried,  and  he  wishes  to  take  one  as  heavy  as  he  can 
carry,  but  not  to  try  one  he  can  not  lift,  will  he  not  be 
compelled  to  estimate  its  weight  at  sight?  If  he  can 
compare  masses  of  the  same  material,  but  of  different 
sizes,  let  him  choose  from  among  masses  of  the  same  size, 
but  of  different  material ;  and  he  must  necessarily  under- 
take to  compare  their  specific  weights.  I  once  knew  a 
young  man,  very  well  educated,  who  would  not  believe, 
until  after  a  trial,  that  a  pail  full  of  large  oak-chips  was 
lighter  than  the  same  pail  filled  with  water. 

If  you  are  shut  up  in  a  building,  in  the  middle  of  the 
night,  clap  your  hands  and  you  will  perceive  by  the  re- 
sound whether  the  space  is  large  or  small,  and  whether 
you  are  in  the  middle  of  the  room  or  in  a  corner.  At  the 
distance  of  half  a  foot  from  a  wall,  the  air,  less  free 


and  more  resisting,  will  bring  a  different  sensation  to 
your  face.  Stand  still  and  turn  in  all  directions,  and  if 
there  is  an  open  door  a  slight  current  of  air  will  indicate 
the  fact.  If  you  are  in  a  boat,  you  will  know  by  the  way 
in  which  the  air  strikes  your  face  not  only  in  what  direc- 
tion you  are  going,  but  whether  the  current  is  carrying 
you  forward  slowly  or  rapidly.  These  observations,  and 
a  thousand  others  like  them,  can  not  well  be  made  save  at 
night.  However  attentive  we  might  wish  to  be  to  them 
in  broad  daylight,  we  are  aided  or  distracted  by  the  sight, 
and  they  will  escape  us  And  still  we  are  not  yet  aided  in 
this  either  by  hands  or  oars.  How  much  ocular  knowl- 
edge we  may  acquire  through  the  sense  of  touch,  even 
without  touching  anything  ! 

Children  should  have  many  sports  by  night.  This 
advice  is  more  important  than  it  seems.  The  night  nat- 
urally frightens  men,  and  sometimes  animals.  Eeasoii, 
knowledge,  intelligence,  courage,  relieve  but  few  people 
from  paying  this  tribute.  I  have  seen  logicians,  strong- 
minded  men,  philosophers,  and  soldiers,  who  were  intrepid 
by  day,  tremble  at  night  like  women  at  the  rustling  of  a 
leaf.  We  attribute  this  affright  to  the  tales  told  by  nurses, 
but  we  are  mistaken ;  it  has  a  natural  cause.  What  is 
this  cause  ?  The  same  which  makes  the  deaf  distrustful 
and  the  people  superstitious — ignorance  of  the  things  which 
surround  us  and  of  what  takes  place  about  us.  Accus- 
tomed to  perceive  objects  at  a  distance,  and  to  foresee 
their  impressions  in  advance,  how,  no  longer  seeing  any- 
thing of  that  which  surrounds  me,  should  I  not  imagine 
that  there  are  a  thousand  beings  and  a  thousand  move- 
ments which  may  harm  me,  and  against  which  it  is  impos- 
sible for  me  to  protect  myself  ?  It  is  to  no  purpose  that 
I  am  secure  in  the  place  where  I  happen  to  be,  for  I  can 
never  know  it  as  well  as  though  I  actually  saw  it ;  and  so 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.  99 

I  always  have  a  subject  of  fear  which  I  did  not  have  in 
broad  daylight.  I  know  it  is  true  that  a  foreign  body 
can  hardly  act  upon  my  own  without  announcing  itself  by 
some  noise ;  and  so  my  sense  of  hearing  is  always  on  the 
alert.  At  the  least  sound,  whose  cause  I  can  not  discern, 
anxiety  for  my  safety  makes  me  at  once  imagine  every- 
thing that  is  most  suitable  for  keeping  me  on  my  guard, 
and  consequently  everything  which  is  most  likely  to 
frighten  me. 

We  have  a  key  to  the  remedy  of  an  evil  when  we  have 
found  its  cause.  In  all  cases  habit  destroys  imagination ; 
it  is  only  new  objects  which  excite  it.  In  those  which  we 
see  every  day,  it  is  no  longer  the  imagination  which  is  at 
work,  but  the  memory ;  and  in  this  fact  we  have  an  ex- 
planation of  the  axiom  ab  assuetis  non  fit  passio,  for  it  is 
only  from  the  fire  of  the  imagination  that  the  passions 
are  kindled.  Therefore  do  not  reason  with  one  whom 
you  would  cure  of  the  horror  of  darkness ;  but  take  him 
often  into  dark  places,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  this 
practice  is  worth  more  than  all  the  arguments  of  philoso- 
phy. Tilers  on  roofs  do  not  become  dizzy,  and  no  one 
who  is  accustomed  to  being  in  darkness  is  any  longer 
afraid  of  it. 

Here,  then,  is  an  additional  argument  for  our  sports 
by  night ;  but  in  order  that  these  sports  may  be  success- 
ful, I  can  not  too  strongly  recommend  that  they  may  be 
full  of  glee.  Nothing  is  so  cheerless  as  darkness.  Never 
shut  up  your  child  in  a  black-hole.  Let  him  laugh  as  he 
goes  into  the  darkness,  and  let  him  laugh  again  when  he 
comes  out  of  it ;  so  that,  while  he  is  in  it,  the  thought  of 
the  amusements  which  he  has  left,  and  of  those  which  he 
is  going  to  renew,  may  protect  him  from  the  fantastic 
imaginations  which  might  come  to  haunt  him  there. 

I  have  known  people  who  would  resort  to  surprises  in 
10 


100 

order  to  accustom  children  not  to  be  frightened  at  any 
thing  in  the  night.  This  is  a  very  bad  method,  for  it 
produces  an  effect  directly  contrary  to  the  one  intended, 
and  serves  only  to  make  them  always  the  more  timorous. 
Neither  reason  nor  habit  can  overcome  the  idea  of  a  pres- 
ent danger  of  which  we  can  know  neither  the  degree  nor 
the  kind,  nor  the  fear  of  surprises  which  have  often  been 
experienced.  Nevertheless,  how  can  you  make  sure  of 
always  keeping  your  pupil  exempt  from  such  accidents  ? 
The  best  advice  I  can  give  for  preserving  him  from 
them  is  the  following :  Your  case,  I  will  say  to  my  Emile, 
seems  to  be  that  of  a  just  defense ;  for  the  aggressor  does 
not  allow  you  to  judge  whether  he  intends  to  do  you  harm 
or  to  frighten  you ;  and  as  he  has  the  advantage  of  you, 
you  can  not  escape  even  by  flight.  Then  boldly  lay  hold 
of  whatever  surprises  you  in  the  night,  it  matters  not 
whether  man  or  beast.  Close  with  him  and  pinion  him 
with  all  your  strength.  If  he  fights,  strike  him,  and  be 
not  sparing  of  your  blows ;  and  whatever  he  may  say  or 
do,  never  let  him  go  till  you  fully  know  what  the  object 
is.  The  clearing  up  of  the  mystery  will  doubtless  show 
you  that  there  was  not  much  to  fear ;  but  this  manner  of 
treating  jokers  ought  to  discourage  them  from  repeating 
their  tricks. 

Always  arm  men  against  unforeseen  accidents.  Let 
Emile  spend  his  mornings  in  running  barefoot  in  all  sea- 
sons around  his  chamber,  up  and  down  stairs,  and  through 
the  garden.  Far  from  scolding  him  for  this,  I  shall  imi- 
tate him ;  only  I  shall  take  care  to  remove  broken  glass. 
I  shall  presently  speak  of  his  employments  and  manual 
recreations.  However,  let  him  learn  to  make  all  the  steps 
which  favor  the  evolution  of  the  body,  and  in  all  his 
attitudes  to  take  an  easy  and  firm  position.  Let  him 
learn  to  make  jumps,  now  long,  now  high  ;  to  climb  a  tree, 


THE  CHILD  FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO  TWELVE.   101 

to  leap  a  wall.  Let  him  always  find  his  equilibrium ; 
and  let  all  his  movements  and  gestures  be  regulated  ac- 
cording to  the  laws  of  gravity,  long  before  the  science  of 
statics  intervenes  to  explain  them  to  him.  From  the 
manner  in  which  his  foot  rests  on  the  ground,  and  his 
body  on  his  leg,  he  should  feel  whether  the  position  is 
good  or  bad.  A  secure  position  is  always  graceful,  and 
the  firmest  postures  the  most  elegant.  Were  I  a  dancing- 
master,  I  would  not  perform  all  the  tricks  of  Marcel,* 
though  well  enough  for  the  country  where  he  teaches 
them;  but  instead  of  occupying  my  pupil  forever  with 
gambols,  I  would  take  him  to  the  base  of  a  rock  and  there 
show  him  what  attitude  he  must  take,  how  he  must  carry 
his  body  and  his  head,  what  movement  he  must  make, 
and  how  he  must  place  first  his  foot  and  then  his  hand, 
in  order  to  follow  nimbly  the  steep,  rugged,  and  uneven 
pathways,  and  to  spring  from  point  to  point  both  in 
ascending  and  in  descending.  I  would  make  of  him  the 
rival  of  a  roe-buck  rather  than  the  dancer  of  the  opera. 

Whatever  gives  movement  to  the  body  without  putting 
restraint  upon  it,  is  always  easy  to  obtain  from  children. 
There  are  a  thousand  ways  of  interesting  them  in  measur- 
ing, ascertaining,  and  estimating  distances.  Here  is  a  very 
tall  cherry-tree :  how  shall  we  proceed  in  order  to  pick 
cherries  from  it  ?  Will  the  ladder  in  the  barn  answer  the 
purpose  ?  Here  is  a  very  wide  brook  :  how  shall  we  cross 
it  ?  Will  one  of  the  planks  in  the  yard  reach  from  bank 
to  bank  ?  From  our  windows  we  would  fish  in  the  moat 
that  surrounds  the  castle  :  how  many  feet  long  shall  our 
line  be  ?  I  would  make  a  swing  between  these  two  trees  : 
will  a  rope  twelve  feet  long  answer  the  purpose  ?  I  am 
told  that  in  the  other  house  our  chamber  will  be  twenty- 

*  A  celebrated  dancing-master  of  Paris. 


102 

five  feet  square :  do  you  think  it  will  suit  us  ?  Will  it 
be  larger  than  this  ?  We  are  very  hungry :  which  of  these 
two  villages  could  we  the  sooner  reach  for  dinner? 

It  was  once  my  duty  to  train  in  running  an  indolent 
and  sluggish  child  who  had  no  inclination  for  that  exer- 
cise or  for  any  other,  although  he  was  destined  for  the  life 
of  a  soldier.  He  had  become  convinced — I  do  not  know 
how — that  a  man  of  his  rank  ought  neither  to  do  anything 
nor  to  know  anything,  and  that  his  nobility  ought  to  serve 
him  instead  of  arms  and  legs,  as  well  as  of  every  species 
of  merit.  The  skill  of  Chiron  himself  would  hardly  suffice 
to  make  of  such  a  gentleman  a  light-footed  Achilles.  The 
difficulty  was  so  much  the  greater  because  I  had  resolved  to 
enjoin  absolutely  nothing  upon  him.  I  had  excluded 
all  resort  to  exhortations,  promises,  threats,  emulation, 
and  the  desire  to  excel.  How  could  I  give  him  a  desire 
to  run  without  saying  anything  to  him  ?  To  run  myself 
might  be  a  means  somewhat  uncertain,  and  subject  to 
difficulties.  Moreover,  it  was  a  further  purpose  of  mine 
to  draw  from  this  exercise  some  object  of  instruction  for 
him,  in  order  to  accustom  the  operations  of  the  machine 
and  those  of  the  judgment  to  move  always  in  concert. 
This  is  the  plan  that  occurred  to  me — that  is,  to  him  who 
speaks  in  this  example.  On  going  out  to  walk  with  him 
in  the  afternoon  I  sometimes  put  in  my  pocket  two 
cakes  of  a  kind  that  he  liked  very  much.  Each  of  us 
ate  one  of  these  during  the  walk,  and  we  returned  well 
pleased.  One  day  he  noticed  that  I  had  three  cakes.  He 
could  have  eaten  six  without  inconvenience,  and  promptly 
dispatched  his  own,  only  to  demand  of  me  the  third.  No, 
I  said  to  him ;  I  could  eat  it  very  well  myself,  or  we  might 
divide  it ;  but  I  prefer  to  see  those  two  little  boys  yonder 
run  a  race  for  it.  I  called  them,  showed  them  the 
cake,  and  stated  the  terms.  They  asked  nothing  better. 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    1Q3 

The  cake  was  placed  on  a  large  stone  which  served  as  the 
goal ;  the  course  was  marked  off,  and  we  took  our  seats. 
At  a  given  signal  the  little  boys  started ;  the  victor  seized 
the  cake  and  ate  it  without  pity  before  the  eyes  of  the 
spectators  and  the  vanquished  comrade. 

This  amusement  was  worth  more  than  the  cake ;  but 
it  did  not  succeed  in  the  first  instance,  and  produced 
nothing.  I  was  neither  discouraged  nor  in  a  hurry.  The 
instruction  of  children  is  a  business  in  which  we  must 
know  how  to  lose  time  in  order  to  gain  it.  We  kept  up 
our  walks,  often  taking  three  cakes,  and  sometimes  four ; 
and  from  time  to  time  there  was  one,  and  sometimes  two, 
for  the  runners.  If  the  prize  was  not  great,  those  who  con- 
tested for  it  would  not  be  ambitious.  Hence  he  who  car- 
ried it  off  was  commended  and  honored ;  everything  was 
done  with  due  formality.  To  give  variety  to  the  entertain- 
ment, and  to  increase  the  interest  in  it,  I  marked  off  a 
longer  course  and  allowed  several  contestants  to  enter  it. 
They  had  hardly  begun  the  race  when  all  the  passers-by 
stopped  to  see  them.  The  cheers,  the  shouts,  the  clap- 
ping of  hands,  lent  them  animation.  I  sometimes  saw  my 
little  fellow  give  a  start,  rise  to  his  feet  and  shout  when 
one  of  the  contestants  was  on  the  point  of  overtaking 
or  passing  another.  For  him,  these  were  the  Olympic 
games. 

The  contestants,  however,  sometimes  resorted  to  foul 
play :  they  held  each  other  back,  or  threw  each  other 
down,  or  put  stones  in  each  other's  way.  This  gave  me 
occasion  to  separate  them,  and  to  make  them  start  from 
different  points,  although  equally  distant  from  the  goal. 
The  reason  of  this  foresight  will  soon  appear ;  for  I  must 
treat  this  important  affair  in  great  detail. 

Constantly  annoyed  at  seeing  eaten  before  his  very 
eyes  the  cakes  which  he  coveted,  my  young  knight  finally 


104  EMILE. 

began  to  suspect  that  to  be  a  good  runner  might  be 
worth  something ;  and  seeing  that  he  also  had  two  legs, 
he  began  to  make  a  trial  of  them  in  secret.  I  was 
careful  to  observe  nothing  of  this,  but  I  saw  clearly 
that  my  stratagem  had  succeeded.  When  he  believed 
himself  sufficiently  prepared,  and  after  I  had  been  able  to 
divine  his  thoughts,  he  pretended  to  importune  me  for 
the  remaining  cake.  I  refused  him,  but  he  persisted,  and 
at  last  said  to  me  with  a  spiteful  air  :  "  Very  well !  Put 
the  cake  on  the  stone,  mark  off  the  ground,  and  we  shall 
see  ! "  "  Good  !  "  I  laughingly  said  to  him  ;  "  can  a  noble- 
man really  run?  You  will  have  a  better  appetite,  but 
not  the  wherewithal  to  satisfy  it."  Stimulated  by  my 
banter,  he  does  his  best,  and  carries  off  the  prize — all  the 
more  easily  because  I  had  made  the  course  "very  short, 
and  had  taken  care  to  exclude  the  best  runner.  This 
first  point  having  been  gained,  it  will  be  understood  how 
easy  it  was  for  me  to  keep  up  his  interest.  He  soon  ac- 
quired such  a  taste  for  this  exercise  that,  unfavored,  he 
was  almost  sure  to  beat  my  ragamuffins  in  running,  how- 
ever long  the  course  might  b,e. 

This  advantage  having  been  gained,  it  produced  an- 
other which  I  had  not  suspected.  As  long  as  he  carried 
off  the  prize  only  rarely,  he  almost  always  ate  the  cake 
alone,  just  as  his  competitors  did  ;  but  as  he  became  ac- 
customed to  victory  he  became  generous,  and  often  shared 
the  prize  with  those  he  had  defeated.  This  furnished  me 
a  moral  observation,  and  I  learned  from  it  what  the  true 
principle  of  generosity  is. 

In  continuing  to  mark  with  him,  in  different  places, 
the  bounds  whence  each  was  to  start  at  the  given  signal, 
without  his  perceiving  it  I  made  the  distances  unequal,  so 
that  one,  having  a  greater  distance  to  run  than  another 
in  order  to  reach  the  same  goal,  had  an  obvious  disad- 


TIIE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    105 

vantage ;  but  though  I  left  the  choice  to  my  disciple,  he 
did  iiot  know  how  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Without 
being  troubled  about  the  distance,  he  always  preferred  the 
finest  route ;  so  that,  easily  foreseeing  his  choice,  it  was 
almost  wholly  within  my  power  to  make  him  lose  or  gain 
the  cake  as  I  might  desire ;  and  this  scheme  was  also 
useful  in  more  than  one  way.  Meanwhile,  as  my  pur- 
pose was  to  make  him  take  notice  of  the  difference  in 
distance,  I  tried  to  make  it  sensible  to  him ;  but,  though 
indolent  in  his  ordinary  state,  he  was  so  excited  in  his 
sports,  and  was  so  little  distrustful  of  me,  that  I  had  all 
the  trouble  in  the  world  to  make  him  see  that  I  was  cheat- 
ing him.  I  finally  succeeded  in  spite  of  his  heedlessness, 
and  he  reproached  me  for  my  deceit.  I  said  to  him  : 
"  What  have  you  to  complain  about  ?  In  bestowing  a 
gift  of  my  own  choice,  may  I  not  make  my  own  condi- 
tions? Who  compels  you  to  run?  Did  I  promise  to 
make  the  courses  of  equal  length,  and  are  you  not  free  to 
choose  ?  No  one  prevents  you  from  taking  the  shortest. 
How  is  it  that  you  do  not  see  that  it  is  yourself  that  I 
favor,  and  that  the  inequality  of  which  you  complain  is 
wholly  to  your  advantage  if  you  know  how  to  make  use 
of  it?"  This  was  clear;  he  saw  the  situation,  and  in 
order  to  make  a  choice  it  was  necessary  to  look  at  the 
matter  more  closely.  At  first  he  proposed  to  count  the 
steps ;  but  to  measure  the  steps  of  children  is  a  slow  and 
uncertain  process.  Moreover,  I  took  it  into  my  head  to 
provide  several  races  for  the  same  day ;  and  then,  the 
sport  becoming  a  sort  of  passion,  it  was  with  regret  that 
time  was  lost  in  measuring  distances  which  should  have 
been  employed  in  running  them.  The  vivacity  of  infancy 
is  poorly  adapted  to  these  delays ;  and  so  an  effort  was 
made  to  see  better,  and  better  to  estimate  a  distance  by 
sight.  Then  I  had  but  little  trouble  in  extending  and 


106  tiMILE. 

nourishing  this  taste.  Finally,  after  months  of  trial  and 
corrected  errors,  his  compass  of  sight  was  so  trained  that 
when  I  placed  before  him,  in  thought,  a  cake  on  some 
distant  object,  his  eye  was  almost  as  sure  as  the  chain  of 
a  surveyor. 

As  the  sight  is  the  sense  which  is  the  most  intimately 
connected  with  the  judgments  of  the  mind,  it  requires  a 
long  time  to  learn  to  see.  Sight  must  have  been  com- 
pared with  touch  for  a  long  time  in  order  to  accustom  the 
first  of  these  two  senses  to  make  a  faithful  report  of  forms 
and  distances ; '  without  the  sense  of  touch,  without  pro- 
gressive movement,  the  most  piercing  eyes  in  the  world 
could  not  give  us  an  idea  of  extension.  To  the  oyster,  the 
entire  universe  must  appear  only  as  a  mere  point ;  and 
were  this  oyster  to  be  informed  by  a  human  soul,  the 
world  would  seem  nothing  more.  It  is  only  by  walking, 
feeling,  numbering,  and  measuring  dimensions  that  we 
learn  to  estimate  them  ;  but  also,  if  we  were  always  measur- 
ing, the  eye,  reposing  on  the  instrument,  would  acquire  no 
accuracy.  Nor  must  the  child  pass  at  a  bound  from  meas- 
uring to  estimating ;  but  it  is  necessary  at  first  that,  con- 
tinuing to  compare  by  parts  what  can  not  be  compared  at 
a  single  glance,  he  should  substitute,  for  definite  measure- 
ments, measurements  by  estimate ;  and  that,  instead  of 
always  applying  the  measure  with  the  hand,  he  become 
accustomed  to  apply  it  only  with  the  eyes.  However,  I 
would  have  him  verify  his  first  attempts  by  real  measure- 
ments, in  order  that  he  may  correct  his  errors,  and  that, 
if  the  sense  retains  any  false  appearance,  he  may  learn  to 
rectify  it  by  a  better  judgment.  We  have  natural  meas- 
ures which  are  nearly  the  same  in  all  places,  as  the  foot  of 
a  man,  the  length  of  his  arm,  or  his  stature.  When  the 
child  estimates  the  height  of  a  room,  his  tutor  may  serve 
him  as  a  toise  or  yard-stick.  If  he  estimate  the  height 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    107 

of  a  steeple,  let  him  take  a  house  as  his  unit  of  measure- 
ment; if  he  wishes  to  know  the  length  of  a  road  in 
leagues,  let  him  count  the  hours  he  has  been  traveling ; 
and,  above  all,  let  nothing  of  all  this  be  done  for  him,  but 
let  him  do  it  for  himself. 

We  could  not  learn  to  judge  correctly  of  the  volume 
and  height  of  bodies  without  learning  also  their  forms,  and 
even  to  reproduce  them ;  for,  at  bottom,  this  reproduction 
is  absolutely  dependent  on  the  laws  of  perspective ;  and 
we  can  not  estimate  the  volume  from  its  appearance,  un- 
less we  have  some  notion  of  these  laws.  Children,  who 
are  great  imitators,  all  try  their  hand  at  drawing.  I 
would  have  my  pupil  cultivate  this  art,  not  exactly  for 
the  art  itself,  but  for  rendering  the  eye  accurate  and  the 
hand  flexible ;  and,  in  general,  it  is  of  very  little  conse- 
quence that  he  understand  such  or  such  an  exercise,  pro- 
vided he  acquire  the  perspicacity  of  sense,  and  the  cor- 
rect habit  of  body,  which  are  gained  from  that  exercise. 
I  shall  take  great  care,  therefore,  not  to  give  him  a  draw- 
ing-master who  will  give  him  only  imitations  to  imitate, 
and  will  make  him  draw  only  from  drawings.  He  shall 
have  no  master  but  Nature,  and  no  models  but  objects. 
He  shall  have  before  his  eyes  the  very  original,  and  not 
the  paper  which  represents  it ;  he  shall  draw  a  house  from 
a  house,  a  tree  from  a  tree,  a  man  from  a  man,  so  as  to 
become  accustomed  .to  observe  bodies  and  their  appear- 
ances correctly,  and  not  to  take  false  and  conventional 
imitations  for  real  imitations.  I  shall  discourage  him 
even  from  tracing  anything  from  memory  in  the  absence 
of  objects,  until,  by  frequent  observations,  their  exact 
figures  are  firmly  impressed  on  his  imagination  ;  for  fear 
that,  substituting  odd  and  fantastic  forms  for  the  truth 
of  things,  he  lose  the  knowledge  of  proportions  and  the 
taste  for  the  beauties  of  Nature. 


108  EMILE. 

I  am  well  aware  that  in  this  way  he  will  scrawl  for  a 
long  time  without  making  anything  that  is  recognizable  ; 
that  he  will  be  late  in  catching  the  elegance  of  contours, 
and  the  light  touch  of  designers,  and  perhaps  never  a 
discernment  of  picturesque  effects  and  good  taste  in 
drawing ;  but  by  way  of  compensation  he  will  certainly 
contract  a  juster  glance  of  the  eye,  a  steadier  hand,  a 
knowledge  of  the  true  relations  of  volume  and  form 
existing  in  animals,  plants,  and  natural  bodies,  and  the 
more  ready  use  of  the  play  of  perspective.  This  is  pre- 
cisely what  I  wish  to  do,  and  my  intention  is  not  so  much 
to  have  him  imitate  objects  as  to  know  them.  I  prefer 
to  have  him  show  me  the  plant  acanthus,  even  though  he 
be  less  skillful  in  tracing  the  foliage  of  a  capital. 

Besides,  in  this  exercise,  as  in  all  the  others,  I  do  not 
intend  that  my  pupil  shall  have  the  enjoyment  of  it  all  to 
himself.  I  wish  to  make  it  still  more  agreeable  to  him 
by  always  sharing  it  with  him.  I  do  not  wish  him  to 
have  any  other  rival  than  myself;  but  I  shall  be  his 
rival  without  respite  and  without  risk ;  and  this  will  put 
interest  into  his  occupations  without  causing  jealousy 
between  us.  In  holding  the  pencil,  I  should  follow  his 
example ;  and  at  first  I  shall  use  it  as  awkwardly  as  he 
does.  Were  I  an  Apelles,  I  would  appear  to  be  no  more 
than  a  dauber ;  I  shall  begin  by  tracing  a  man  just  as 
lackeys  trace  them  on  walls — a  stroke  for  each  arm,  a 
stroke  for  each  leg,  and  the  fingers  larger  than  the  arms. 
After  a  very  long  time  we  shall  both  take  note  of  this 
disproportion ;  we  shall  observe  that  a  leg  has  thickness, 
and  that  this  thickness  is  not  the  same  throughout ;  and 
that  the  arm  has  its  determinate  length  with  respect  to 
the  body,  etc.  In  this  progress  I  shall  do  no  more  than 
keep  up  with  him,  or  I  shall  advance  so  little  beyond 
him  that  it  will  always  be  easy  for  him  to  overtake  me,  and 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    109 

often  to  surpass  me.  We  shall  have  paints  and  brushes ; 
and  we  shall  try  to  imitate  the  colors  of  objects  and  their 
whole  appearance,  as  well  as  their  form.  We  will  color, 
we  will  paint,  we  will  daub ;  but  in  all  our  daubings  we 
shall  not  cease  to  watch  Nature ;  we  shall  do  nothing  save 
under  the  eyes  of  the  master. 

We  were  in  want  of  ornaments  for  our  chamber ;  but 
now  we  find  all  we  want.  I  have  our  drawings  framed 
and  put  under  glass,  so  that  no  further  touches  may  be 
given  them,  and  that,  seeing  them  remain  in  the  state 
in  which  we  put  them,  each  one  may  have  an  interest  in 
not  neglecting  his  own.  I  arrange  them  in  order  about 
the  chamber,  each  drawing  repeated  twenty  or  thirty 
times,  and  showing  by  each  copy  the  progress  of  the 
author,  from  the  moment  when  the  house  is  hardly  more 
than  a  formless  square,  until  its  fa9ade,  its  side  view,  its 
proportions,  and  its  shadows  are  represented  with  the 
greatest  exactness.  These  gradations  in  finish  can  not 
fail  to  offer  us  numberless  pictures  interesting  to  our- 
selves and  surprising  to  others,  and  always  to  excite  our 
emulation  more  and  more.  On  the  first  of  these,  on  the 
coarser  of  our  drawings,  I  put  very  bright  and  nicely 
gilded  frames,  which  set  them  off  to  advantage ;  but 
when  the  imitation  becomes  more  exact,  and  the  drawing 
is  really  good,  I  give  it  nothing  better  than  a  very  simple 
black  frame ;  'for  it  needs  no  other  ornament  than  itself, 
and  it  would  be  a  pity  to  have  the  frame  divide  the  at- 
tention which  is  merited  by  the  object  itself.  Thus,  each 
of  us  aspires  to  the  honor  of  a  simple  frame ;  and  when 
any  one  would  slight  the  drawing  of  another  he  condemns 
it  to  a  gilt  frame.  Some  day,  perhaps,  these  gilt  frames 
will  become  a  byword  among  us;  and  we  shall  wonder 
that  so  many  men  think  to  do  themselves  justice  by  fram- 
ing their  pictures  in  this  manner. 


110  EMILE. 

I  have  said  that  geometry  is  not  within  the  compre- 
hension of  children;  but  this  is  our  fault.  We  do  not 
perceive  that  their  method  is  not  ours,  and  that  what 
becomes  for  us  the  art  of  reasoning  ought  to  be  for  them 
only  the  art  of  seeing.  Instead  of  giving  them  our  meth 
od,  it  would  be  better  for  us  to  borrow  theirs ;  for  our 
way  of  learning  geometry  is  as  much  a  matter  of  imagi- 
nation as  of  reasoning.  When  the  proposition  has  been 
announced,  we  must  imagine  its  demonstration — that  is, 
we  must  ascertain  from  what  proposition  already  learned 
this  one  is  to  be  the  consequence,  and  from  all  the  conse- 
quences which  may  be  drawn  from  this  given  proposition 
to  choose  precisely  the  one  which  is  required. 

In  this  way  the  most  exact  reasoner,  if  he  has  not  the 
gift  of  invention,  must  remain  at  a  standstill.  What  fol- 
lows? Instead  of  making  us  find  the  demonstrations, 
they  are  dictated  to  us ;  instead  of  teaching  us  to  rea- 
son, the  teacher  reasons  for  us  and  exercises  only  our 
memory. 

Draw  exact  figures,  combine  them,  superimpose  them, 
and  examine  their  relations.  You  will  find  the  whole  of 
elementary  geometry  by  advancing  from  one  observation 
to  another,  without  the  need  of  definitions,  problems,  or  of 
any  other  form  of  demonstration  than  simple  superposi- 
tion. For  myself,  I  do  not  profess  to  teach  geometry  to 
Emile,  but  it  is  he  who  will  teach  it  to  me.  I  will  look  for 
relations,  and  he  will  find  them ;  for  I  will  look  for  them 
in  a  way  to  make  him  find  them.  For  example,  instead 
of  using  a  compass  to  trace  a  circle,  I  will  trace  it  with  a 
point  at  the  end  of  a  thread  turning  about  a  centre. 
After  this,  when  I  would  compare  the  radii  of  a  circle, 
Emile  will  laugh  at  me,  and  will  give  me  to  understand 
that  the  same  thread,  while  stretched  tight,  can  not  have 
traced  unequal  distances. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE. 

If  I  wish  to  measure  an  angle  of  sixty  degrees,  I  de- 
scribe from  the  vertex  of  this  angle  not  an  arc  but  an 
entire  circle ;  for,  with  children,  there  must  be  nothing 
unexpressed.  I  find  that  the  part  of  a  circle  included 
between  the  two  sides  of  the  angle  is  the  sixth  part  of  the 
circle.  After  this  I  describe  from  the  same  vertex  another 
and  larger  circle,  and  I  find  that  this  second  arc  is  still 
the  sixth  part  of  its  circle.  I  describe  a  third  concentric 
circle  on  which  I  make  the  same  experiment ;  and  so  I  go 
on  with  new  circles,  till  Emile,  shocked  at  my  stupidity, 
informs  me  that  every  arc,  large  or  small,  intercepted  by 
the  same  angle,  will  always  be  the  sixth  part  of  its  cir- 
cle, etc.  Thus  early  we  have  learned  the  use  of  a  pro- 
tractor. 

Accuracy  in  drawing  geometrical  figures  is  neglected ; 
they  are  assumed  to  be  correct,  and  the  whole  thought  is 
given  to  the  demonstration.  With  us,  on  the  contrary, 
the  question  of  demonstration  will  never  be  raised.  Ou> 
more  important  business  will  be  to  draw  lines  that  are 
perfectly  straight,  perfectly  accurate,  perfectly  equal;  to 
make  a  square  that  is  perfectly  regular,  and  to  trace  a 
circle  that  is  perfectly  round.  To  verify  the  accuracy  of 
the  figure,  we  will  examine  it  in  all  its  sensible  properties ; 
and  this  will  give  us  daily  occasion  to  discover  new  ones. 
We  will  fold  the  two  semicircles  along  the  diameter,  and 
the  two  halves  of  the  square  along  the  diagonal.  We 
will  compare  our  two  figures  in  order  to  discover  the  one 
whose  -edges  match  the  most  exactly,  and  which,  conse- 
quently, is  the  better  made ;  and  we  will  discuss  whether 
this  equality  of  division  ought  always  to  take  place  in 
parallelograms,  trapeziums,  etc.  Sometimes  we  will  try 
to  foresee  the  success  of  the  experiment ;  before  making 
it,  we  will  endeavor  to  find  reasons  for  it. 

For  my  pupil,  geometry  is  but  the  art  of  making  good 


112     .  EMILE. 

use  of  the  rule  and  compass  ;*  and  he  ought  not  to  con- 
found it  with  drawing,  where  he  will  employ  neither  of 
these  instruments.  The  rule  and  compass  shall  be  kept 
under  lock  and  key,  and  he  shall  be  granted  the  use  of 
them  only  very  rarely,  and  for  a  little  time,  in  order  that 
he  may  not  become  accustomed  to  slovenly  draAving ;  but 
we  shall  sometimes  take  our  figures  with  us  while  out  for 
a  walk,  and  talk  of  what  we  have  done  or  of  what  we 
propose  to  do. 

I  shall  never  forget  a  young  man  I  saw  at  Turin, 
who  in  his  infancy  had  been  taught  the  relations  be- 
tween contours  and  surfaces,  by  allowing  him  each  day  to 
make  a  choice  of  isoperimetric  cakes  cut  into  various 
geometrical  forms.  The  little  glutton  had  exhausted  the 
art  of  Archimedes  in  order  to  find  in  which  figure  there 
was  the  most  to  eat.f 

When  a  child  plays  at  shuttle-cock  he  trains  his  eye 
and  arm  in  accuracy  ;  when  he  whips  a  top  he  increases 
his  strength  by  using  it,  but  without  learning  anything. 
I  have  sometimes  asked  why  we  do  not  offer  children 
the  same  games  of  skill  which  men  have,  such  as  ten- 
nis, fives,  billiards,  bow  and  arrow,  foot-ball,  and  musi- 
cal instruments.  I  have  been  told,  in  reply,  that  some 
of  these  sports  are.  beyond  the  strength  of  children, 
and  that  their  limbs  and  organs  are  not  sufficiently  de- 

*  Rousseau  must  have  been  too  wise  to  believe  that  any  system 
of  measurements,  however  exact,  could  take  the  place  of  mathemati- 
cal demonstration.  No  experimental  process  can  ever  establish  the 
general  truth  that  the  sum  of  the  three  angles  of  a  triangle  is  equal 
to  two  right  angles.  We  should  not  confound  "  geometrical  recre- 
ations" with  geometrical  science. — (P.) 

f  Isoperimetric  figures  are  those  whose  contours  or  circumfer- 
ences are  equal  in  length,  Now,  of  all  these  figures  it  is  proved  that 
the  circle  is  the  one  which  contains  the  greatest  surface.  Hence  the 
child  has  to  choose  cakes  in  the  form  of  a  circle. 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE   AGE  OF  FIVE  TO   TWELVE.    H3 

veloped  for  the  others.  I  find  these  reasons  bad.  A 
child  has  not  the  stature  of  a  man,  and  is  not  allowed  to 
wear  a  coat  made  like  his.  I  do  not  mean  that  he  shall 
play  with  our  maces  on  a  table  three  feet  high ;  I  do  not 
mean  that  he  shall  knock  the  balls  in  our  tennis-courts, 
nor  that  his  little  hands  shall  be  made  to  hold  the  racket 
of  an  expert;  but  that  he  shall  play  in  a  hall  whose 
windows  are  protected ;  that,  at  first,  he  use  only  soft 
balls ;  that  his  first  rackets  shall  be  of  wood,  then  of 
parchment,  and  finally  of  catgut  stretched  to  accord 
with  his  progress.  You  prefer  the  shuttle-cock  because 
it  is  less  fatiguing  and  less  dangerous ;  but  you  are  wrong 
in  both  these  reasons.  Shuttle-cock  is  a  game  for  women  ; 
but  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  can  not  be  made  to  run 
by  a  moving  ball.  Their  white  skin  is  not  to  be  hardened 
to  bruises,  and  their  faces  are  not  expected  to  suffer  con- 
tusions. But  do  we  imagine  that  we  who  are  intended 
to  be  vigorous  can  become  so  without  trouble  ?  And  of 
what  defense  shall  we  be  capable  if  we  are  never  at- 
tacked ?  We  always  play  games  indolently  in  which  we 
can  be  unskillful  without  risk.  A  falling  shuttle-cock 
does  harm  to  no  one ;  but  nothing  invigorates  the  arms 
like  having  to  protect  the  head  with  them,  and  nothing 
makes  the  sight  so  accurate  as  having  to  protect  the  eyes 
from  blows.  To  spring  from  one  end  of  the  hall  to  an- 
other, to  estimate  the  bound  of  a  ball  still  in  the  air,  and 
to  send  it  back  with  a  strong  and  steady  hand,  such  sports 
do  not  befit  a  man  but  they  serve  to  train  a  youth. 

Whatever  has  been  done  can  be  done  again.  Xow,  noth- 
ing is  more  common  than  to  see  dexterous  and  sprightly 
children  whose  limbs  have  the  same  agility  as  those  of 
a  man.  At  almost  all  the  fairs  we  see  them  performing 
feats  of  balancing,  walking  on  the  hands,  jumping,  and 
rope-dancing.  For  how  many  years  have  not  troops 


of  children  attracted  spectators  to  the  Italian  comedy 
by  their  ballet-dances  !  Who  is  there  who  has  not  heard 
the  pantomime  troop  of  the  celebrated  Nicolini  spoken 
of  in  Germany  and  in  Italy  ?  Has  any  one  ever  no- 
ticed in  these  children  movements  less  perfect,  attitudes 
less  pleasing,  an  ear  less  accurate,  and  a  dance  less  airy, 
than  in  the  dancers  of  mature  age  ?  Though  the  fingers 
at  first  may  be  thick,  short,  and  stiff,  and  the  hands 
plump  and  incapable  of  grasping  anything,  does  this 
prevent  multitudes  of  children  from  knowing  how  to 
write  and  draw  at  an  age  when  others  can  not  yet  hold 
the  pencil  or  pen?  All  Paris  still  recollects  the  little 
English  girl  of  ten  who  performed  prodigies  on  the  harp- 
sichord. On  one  occasion,  at  the  house  of  a  magistrate, 
I  saw  his  son,  a  little  fellow  of  eight  years,  put  on  the 
table,  at  dessert,  like  a  statue  in  the  midst  of  the  table- 
service,  and  there  play  on  a  violin  almost  as  large  as  him- 
self, and  surprise  even  the  artists  present  by  his  execu- 
tion. 

All  these  examples,  and  thousands  like  them,  prove, 
as  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  inaptitude  attributed  to  chil- 
dren for  manly  exercises  is  imaginary ;  and  that,  if  they 
are  not  successful  in  some  of  them,  it  is  because  they  have 
never  been  trained  to  them. 

I  shall  be  told  that,  with  respect  to  the  body,  I  am 
here  falling  into  the  mistake  of  that  premature  intellectual 
culture  which  I  censure  in  children.  The  difference  in 
the  two  cases  is  very  great ;  for,  in  one,  the  progress  is 
only  apparent,  while  in  the  other  it  is  real.  I  have 
proved  that  the  intelligence  which  they  seem  to  have, 
they  do  not  have ;  whereas,  they  really  do  all  they  seem 
to  do.  Moreover,  we  ought  always  to  recollect  that  all 
this  is,  or  ought  to  be,  but  play,  the  facile  and  voluntary 
direction  of  the  movements  which  Nature  demands  of 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.    H5 

Jiem,  the  art  of  varying  their  amusements  in  order  to 
make  them  more  agreeable,  without  the  least  appearance 
of  that  constraint  which  turns  them  into  labor ;  for,  in 
short,  what  amusements  shall  they  have  from  which  I 
can  not  draw  material  for  their  instruction  ?  And  when 
this  can  not  be  done,  provided  they  amuse  themselves 
without  inconvenience,  and  the  time  passes,  their  progress 
in  any  given  direction  is  of  no  importance,  so  far  as  the 
present  is  concerned;  whereas,  when  they  must  neces- 
sarily be  taught  this  or  that,  as  things  now  go,  it  is  always 
impossible  to  attain  the  end  without  constraint,  without 
vexation,  and  without  ennui. 

Man  has  three  kinds  of  voice  :  namely,  the  speaking 
or  articulated  voice,  a  singing  or  melodious  voice,  and  the 
impassioned  or  modulated  voice,  which  serves  as  a  language 
for  the  passions,  and  which  gives  animation  to  song  and 
speech.  The  child,  like  the  man,  has  these  three  kinds 
of  voice  without  knowing  how  to  combine  them  as  he 
does.  Like  us,  he  resorts  to  laughter,  to  cries,  to  wailing, 
to  exclamations,  and  to  groans,  but  he  does  not  know 
how  to  mingle  their  inflections  with  the  two  other 
voices. 

A  perfect  music  is  that  which  best  unites  these  three 
voices.  Children  are  incapable  of  this  music,  and  their 
singing  never  has  soul.  So  also,  in  the  speaking  voice, 
their  language  has  no  accent ;  they  cry,  but  they  do  not 
modulate ;  and  as  there  is  little  accent  in  their  conver- 
sation, there  is  little  energy  in  their  voice.  The  speech 
of  our  pupil  will  be  more  uniform  and  still  more  simple, 
because  his  passions,  not  yet  being  awakened,  will  not 
mingle  their  language  with  his  own.  Therefore,  do  not 
make  him  recite  parts  in  tragedy,  or  in  comedy,  nor  at- 
tempt to  teach  him,  as  the  phrase  is,  to  declaim.  He  will 
have,  too  much  sense  to  know  how  to  give  tone  to  things 
11 


116  EMILE. 

which  he  can  not  understand,  and  expression  to  senti- 
ments which  he  will  never  experience. 

Teach  him  to  speak  simply  and  clearly,  to  articulate 
correctly,  to  pronounce  accurately  and  without  affecta- 
tion, to  know  and  to  follow  grammatical  accent  and  pros- 
ody, always  to  employ  voice  enough  to  be  heard  but  never 
more  than  is  necessary  —  a  common  fault  in  children 
brought  up  in  colleges;  and  in  everything  have  him 
avoid  whatever  is  superfluous. 

And  so,  in  singing,  make  his  voice  accurate,  uniform, 
flexible,  sonorous ;  and  his  ear  sensitive  to  measure  and 
harmony,  but  nothing  more  than  this.  Imitative  and 
theatrical  music  is  not  adapted  to  his  age ;  and  I  would 
not  even  have  him  sing  words  if  he  wished  to  sing  them, 
but  would  try  to  compose  songs  expressly  for  him,  inter- 
esting for  his  age,  and  as  simple  as  his  ideas. 

It  might  reasonably  be  supposed  that,  being  in  such 
little  haste  to  teach  him  to  read  writing,  I  should  be  in  no 
great  hurry  to  teach  him  how  to  read  music.  Let  us  save 
his  brain  all  attention  that  is  too  laborious,  and  be  in  no 
haste  to  fix  his  mind  on  conventional  signs.  This,  I  ac- 
knowledge, seems  to  present  a  difficulty ;  for  if  the  knowl- 
edge of  notes  does  not,  at  first,  seem  more  necessary  for 
knowing  how  to  sing  than  that  of  letters  for  knowing 
how  to  talk,  there  is,  however,  this  difference — that  in 
speaking  we  render  our  own  ideas,  while  in  singing,  we 
do  hardly  more  than  render  the  ideas  of  others.  Now,  in 
order  to  render  them,  we  must  be  able  to  read  them. 

But  in  the  first  place,  instead  of  reading  them,  we  can 
hear  them,  and  a  song  is  translated  by  the  ear  still  more 
faithfully  than  by  the  eye.  Moreover,  in  order  to  know 
music  well,  it  does  not  suffice  to  render  it ;  it  is  necessary 
to  compose  it,  and  one  should  be  learned  along  with  the 
other,  for  except  in  this  way  music  is  never  very  well 


THE   CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FHfE  TO   TWELVE.    H7 

learned.  At  first,  drill  your  little  musician  in  composing 
very  regular  and  well-cadenced  phrases ;  then  in  uniting 
them  by  a  very  simple  modulation ;  and,  lastly,  in  marking 
their  different  relations  by  a  correct  punctuation,  which 
is  done  by  a  wise  choice  of  cadences  and  rests.  Above  all, 
never  introduce  into  singing  what  is  odd  or  strange,  and 
never  indulge  in  the  pathetic  or  the  expressive;  but 
choose  a  melody  that  is  always  harmonious  and  simple, 
always  springing  from  the  essential  chords  of  the  piece, 
and  always  indicating  the  bass  in  such  a  way  that  the 
child  may  easily  perceive  and  accompany  it ;  for,  in  order 
to  train  the  voice  and  the  ear,  he  ought  never  to  sing  save 
with  the  harpsichord. 

We  should  die  of  hunger  or  poison  if  we  were  com- 
pelled to  wait  in  order  to  choose  the  food  that  is  best  for 
us,  till  experience  had  taught  us  to  know  and  to  choose 
it ;  but  the  Supreme  Goodness  which  has  caused  the  pleas- 
ure of  sensitive  beings  to  be  the  instrument  of  their  con- 
servation shows  us,  from  what  pleases  our  palate,  what  is 
best  for  our  stomach.  Naturally,  there  is  no  safer  physi- 
cian for  a  man  than  his  own  appetite,  and,  taking  him 
in  his  primitive  condition,  I  doubt  not  that  the  food 
which  he  found  most  agreeable  was  also  the  most  whole- 
some. 

The  farther  we  depart  from  the  state  of  Xature  the 
more  we  lose  our  natural  tastes ;  or,  rather,  habit  becomes 
to  us  a  second  nature,  which  we  substitute  so  completely 
for  the  original  that  none  of  us  longer  know  what  our 
original  is. 

Those  who  say  that  children  must  be  accustomed  to 
the  aliments  which  they  will  use  when  grown,  do  not  seem 
to  me  to  reason  correctly.  Why  ought  their  nurture  to 
remain  the  same  while  their  manner  of  living  is  so  dif- 
ferent ?  A  man  exhausted  by  labor,  care,  and  trouble, 


118  EMILE. 

needs  succulent  food,  which  brings  new  energy  to  the 
brain;  while  the  child  who  has  just  been  playing,  and 
whose  body  is  growing,  needs  a  copious  diet  which  pro- 
duces an  abundance  of  chyle.  Moreover,  the  grown  man 
already  has  his  station  in  life,  his  occupation  and  his 
home ;  but  who  of  us  can  be  sure  of  what  Fortune  has  in 
reserve  for  the  child  ?  In  no  particular  let  us  impose  on 
him  so  determinate  a  form  that  it  will  cost  him  too  much 
to  change  it  when  necessity  requires.  Let  us  not  cause 
him  to  die  of  hunger  in  foreign  countries,  if  he  does  not 
keep  a  French  cook  with  him  wherever  he  goes,  nor  to 
say,  one  day,  that  people  know  how  to  eat  only  in  France. 
This,  by  the  way,  is  a  fine  compliment !  For  myself  I 
would  say,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  is  only  the  French  who 
do  not  know  how  to  eat,  since  such  a  peculiar  art  is  re- 
quired in  order  to  render  their  food  palatable. 

Gluttony  is  the  vice  of  natures  which  have  no  sub- 
stance in  them.  The  soul  of  a  glutton  is  all  in  his  palate 
— he  is  made  only  for  eating ;  in  his  stupid  incapacity,  he 
is  himself  only  at  table,  he  is  able  to  judge  only  of  dishes. 
Leave  him  to  this  employment  without  regret ;  both  for 
ourselves  and  for  him,  this  employment  is  better  for  him 
than  any  other. 

The  fear  that  gluttony  may  take  root  in  a  child  of  any 
capacity  is  a  narrow-minded  precaution.  The  child  thinks 
of  nothing  but  eating ;  but  in  adolescence  we  no  longer 
think  of  it ;  for  everything  tastes  good,  and  we  have  many 
other  things  to  occupy  our  thoughts.  However,  I  would 
not  have  an  indiscreet  use  made  of  so  low  a  motive,  nor 
support  the  honor  of  doing  a  noble  deed  on  the  promise 
of  some  toothsome  morsel.  But  as  the  whole  of  child- 
hood is,  or  ought  to  be,  devoted  only  to  sports  and  gay 
amusements,  I  see  no  reason  why  exercises  purely  corporeal 
should  not  have  a  material  and  sensible  reward.  When  a 


THE    CHILD   FROM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.   U9 

little  Majorcan,*  seeing  a  basket  on  the  top  of  a  tree, 
brings  it  down  by  the  use  of  his  sling,  is  it  not  very  proper 
that  he  should  profit  by  the  feat  ?  When  a  young  Spartan, 
at  the  risk  of  a  hundred  blows  of  the  whip,  cleverly  slips 
into  a  kitchen  and  there  steals  a  live  fox,  and  while 
carrying  him  off  in  his  frock  is  scratched,  bitten,  and 
covered  with  blood ;  and  when,  for  fear  of  being  caught, 
the  child  allows  his  bowels  to  be  lacerated  without  a  scowl 
and  without  uttering  a  single  cry — is  it  not  just  that  he 
finally  profit  by  his  booty,  and  that  he  eat  it,  after  having 
been  eaten  by  it  ?  A  good  dinner  never  ought  to  be  a 
reward  ;  but  why  should  it  not  sometimes  be  the  effect  of 
the  pains  we  have  taken  to  procure  it  ?  Emile  never 
regards  the  cake  which  I  put  on  the  stone  as  a  reward  for 
having  run  well ;  he  knows  merely  that  the  only  means  of 
getting  the  cake  is  to  be  the  first  to  reach  it. 

This  does  not  at  all  contradict  the  maxims  which  I 
lately  stated  concerning  simplicity  of  diet ;  for,  in  order 
to  sharpen  the  appetite  of  children,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
excite  their  gustatory  pleasure  but  only  to  satisfy  their 
hunger ;  and  this  will  be  accomplished  by  the  most  com- 
mon things  in  the  world  if  we  do  not  set  ourselves  at  work 
to  refine  their  taste.  Their  continual  appetite,  excited  by 
the  need  of  growth,  is  a  sure  condiment  which  takes  the 
place  of  many  others.  Fruits,  milk,  some  piece  of  cook- 
ery more  delicate  than  ordinary  bread,  and,  above  all,  the 
art  of  dispensing  all  this  with  moderation — this  is  the  way 
to  lead  armies  of  children  through  the  world  without  giv- 
ing them  a  taste  for  exciting  savors  or  running  the  risk  of 
blunting  their  palates. 

Whatever  diet  you  give  your  children,  provided  you 

*  The  Majorcans  have  abandoned   this  custom  for  many  cent- 
uries ;  it  was  in  force  during  the  celebrity  of  their  slingers. — (P.) 


120 

accustom  them  only  to  common  and  simple  dishes,  let 
them  eat,  ran,  and  play  as  much  as  they  please,  and  you 
may  be  sure  that  they  will  never  eat  too  much,  and  will 
never  be  troubled  by  indigestion ;  but  if  you  starve  them 
half  the  time,  and  they  find  the  means  of  escaping  your 
vigilance,  they  will  make  up  for  what  they  have  lost  with 
all  their  might :  they  will  eat  to  repletion,  almost  to  burst- 
ing. Our  appetite  is  inordinate  only  because  we  give  it 
other  rules  than  those  of  Nature ;  always  regulating,  pre- 
scribing, adding  and  retrenching,  we  do  nothing  save  with 
the  balance  in  hand  ;  but  this  balance  is  governed  by  our 
fancies  and  not  by  our  stomachs.  I  am  always  recurring 
to  my  illustrations.  Among  peasants  the  cupboard  and 
the  fruit-room  are  always  open,  and  neither  children  nor 
men  know  what  indigestion  is. 

If  it  should  happen,  however,  that  a  child  eat  too 
much — a  thing  which  I  do  not  believe  possible,  according 
to  my  method — it  is  so  easy  to  distract  him  with  amuse- 
ments which  he  likes  that  we  might  finally  exhaust  him 
with  inanition  without  his  thinking  of  it.  How  is  it  that 
means  so  sure  and  easy  escape  all  our  teachers  ?  Herodo- 
tus-* relates  that  the  Lydians,  sore  pressed  by  an  extreme 
famine,  bethought  themselves  of  inventing  games  and 
other  amusements,  by  which  they  diverted  attention  from 
their  hunger  and  passed  whole  days  without  thinking  of 
eating.  Your  wise  tutors  have  perhaps  read  this  passage 
a  hundred  times  without  seeing  the  application  that  might 
be  made  of  it  to  children.  Some  of  them  will  say  to  me 
that  a  child  does  not  willingly  leave  his  dinner  in  order 
to  study  his  lesson.  Master,  you  are  right.  I  was  not 
thinking  of  that  sort  of  amusement. 

Supposing,  then,  that  my  method  is  that  of  Nature, 

*  Book  I,  chap.  xciv. 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    121 

and  that  I  am  not  deceived  in  its  application,  we  have 
led  our  pupil  across  the  regions  of  the  sensations  up  to 
the  confines  of  juvenile  reason.  The  first  step  that  we 
are  going  to  take  beyond  this  ought  to  be  the  step  of  a 
man ;  but  before  entering  on  this  new  course  let  us  look 
back  for  a  moment  on  that  which  we  have  just  traversed. 
Each  age,  each  period  of  life,  has  its  proper  perfection,  a 
sort  of  maturity  which  is  all  its  own.  We  have  often 
heard  mention  made  of  a  grown  man;  but  let  us  now 
consider  a  grown  child.  This  spectacle  will  be  something 
newer  for  us,  and  perhaps  not  less  agreeable. 

The  existence  of  finite  beings  is  so  poor  and  so  con- 
tracted, that  when  we  see  only  that  which  is,  our  emotions 
are  not  excited.  It  is  fancy  which  lends  ornament  to  real 
objects,  and  if  the  imagination  does  not  add  a  charm  to 
that  which  strikes  our  attention,  the  sterile  pleasure  which 
we  receive  from  it  is  limited  to  the  organ  of  sense,  and 
always  leaves  the  heart  cold.  The  earth,  adorned  with 
the  treasures  of  autumn,  displays  riches  which  the  eye 
admires;  but  this  admiration  is  not  affecting;  it  comes 
more  from  reflection  than  from  feeling.  In  the  spring, 
the  fields,  almost  bare,  are  still  without  adornment ;  the 
woods  afford  no  shade,  and  the  verdure  is  only  beginning 
to  appear;  but  the  heart  is  touched  at  the  sight.  In 
seeing  Xature  thus  return  to  life,  we  feel  ourselves  reani- 
mated ;  we  are  encompassed  by  the  imagery  of  pleasure. 
Those  companions  of  pleasure,  those  gentle  tears  always 
ready  to  accompany  every  delicious  emotion,  are  ready  to 
fall  from  our  eyes ;  but  however  animated,  lively,  and 
agreeable  the  sight  of  the  vintage  may  be,  we  always  look 
on  it  with  tearless  eyes. 

Why  this  difference  ?  It  is  because  to  the  splendor  of 
spring  the  imagination  adds  that  of  the  seasons  which  are 
to  follow ;  because,  to  those  tender  buds  which  the  eye 


122  tiMILE. 

perceives,  it  adds  flower,  fruit,  shadow,  and  sometimes  the 
mysteries  which  they  may  conceal.  The  imagination 
unites  in  a  single  point  successive  periods  of  time,  and 
sees  objects  less  as  they  shall  be  than  as  she  desires  them  to 
be,  since  it  depends  on  her  to  choose  them.  In  autumn,  on 
the  contrary,  we  see  nothing  more  than  that  which  actu- 
ally exists.  If  we  wish  to  pass  on  to  the  spring-time,  the 
winter  stops  us,  and  the  chilled  imagination  dwells  on  the 
snow  and  the  hoar-frost. 

Such  is  the  source  of  the  charm  we  find  in  contem- 
plating a  beautiful  infancy  rather  than  the  perfection  of 
mature  age.  When  is  it  that  we  experience  a  real  pleas- 
ure in  seeing  a  man  ?  It  is  when  the  memory  of  his  ac- 
tions causes  us  to  go  back  over  his  life — rejuvenates  him, 
so  to  speak,  in  our  eyes.  If  we  were  compelled  to  consider 
him  as  he  is,  or  to  imagine  him  as  he  will  be  in  his  old  age, 
the  idea  of  declining  nature  destroys  all  our  pleasure. 
There  is  no  pleasure  in  seeing  a  man  advancing  at  long 
strides  toward  the  tomb,  and  the  image  of  death  disfigures 
everything. 

But  when  I  represent  to  myself  a  child  from  ten  to 
twelve  years  old,  healthy,  vigorous,  and  well  formed  for 
his  age,  he  does  not  excite  in  me  an  idea  which  is  not 
agreeable,  either  for  the  present  or  for  the  future.  I  see 
him  impetuous,  sprightly,  animated,  without  corroding 
care,  without  long  and  painful  foresight,  wholly  absorbed 
in  his  actual  existence,  and  enjoying  a  plenitude  of  life 
which  seems  bent  on  reaching  out  beyond  him.  I  look 
forward  to  another  period  of  life,  and  I  see  him  exercis- 
ing the  senses,  the  mind,  and  the  powers  which  are  being 
developed  within  him  from  day  to  day,  and  of  which  he 
gives  new  evidences  from  moment  to  moment.  I  con- 
template the  child,  and  he  pleases  me ;  I  imagine  the  man, 
and  he  pleases  me  more ;  his  ardent  blood  seems  to  add 


warmth  to  my  own ;  I  seem  to  live  with  his  life,  and  his 
vivacity  makes  me  young  again. 

The  clock  strikes,  and  what  a  change  !  In  a  moment 
his  eye  grows  dull  and  his  mirth  ceases;  adieu  to  joy, 
adieu  to  frolicsome  sports.  A  stern  and  angry  man  takes 
him  by  the  hand,  says  to  him  gravely,  "  Come  on,  sir  !  "  and 
leads  him  away.  In  the  room  which  they  enter  I  discover 
books.  Books  !  What  cheerless  furniture  for  one  of  his 
age  !  The  poor  child  allows  himself  to  be  led  away,  turns 
a  regretful  eye  on  all  that  surrounds  him,  holds  his  peace 
as  he  goes,  his  eyes  are  swollen  with  tears  which  he  dares 
not  shed,  and  his  heart  heavy  with  sighs  which  he  dares 
not  utter. 

0  thou  who  hast  nothing  like  this  to  fear — thou  for 
whom  no  period  of  life  is  a  time  of  weariness  and  unrest — 
thou  who  seest  the  day  come  without  anxiety  and  the 
night  without  impatience,  and  countest  the  hours  only  by 
thy  pleasures,  come,  my  happy,  my  lovable  pupil,  and  by 
thy  presence  console  me  for  the  departure  of  this  un- 
fortunate youth.  Come !  He  comes,  and  at  his  approach 
I  am  conscious  of  an  emotion  of  joy  which  I  see  that  he 
shares  with  me.  It  is  his  friend,  his  comrade,  his  play- 
fellow whom  he  approaches.  On  seeing  me  he  is  very 
sure  that  he  will  not  remain  long  without  amusements. 
We  are  never  dependent  on  each  other,  but  we  are  always 
in  accord,  and  are  never  so  content  as  when  we  are  to- 
gether. 

His  form,  his  bearing,  and  his  countenance  bespeak 
self-assurance  and  contentment.  A  glow  of  health  is  on 
his  face ;  his  firm  step  gives  him  an  air  of  vigor ;  his  com- 
plexion, still  delicate  without  being  insipid,  has  no  trace 
of  effeminate  softness — the  air  and  the  sun  have  already 
placed  on  it  the  honorable  imprint  of  his  sex ;  his  feat- 
ures, still  rounded,  begin  to  exhibit  some  marks  of  devel- 


124 

oping  character  of  their  own ;  his  eyes,  which  the  warmth 
of  feeling  does  not  yet  animate,  have  at  least  all  their  na 
tive  serenity;  long  sorrows  have  not  dimmed  them,  and 
endless  tears  have  not  furrowed  his  cheeks.  In  his  prompt 
but  sure  movements  you  may  see  the  vivacity  of  his  age, 
the  firmness  of  independence,  and  the  experience  coming 
from  his  multiplied  activities.  His  manner  is  open  and 
free,  but  neither  insolent  nor  vain.  His  face,  which  has 
not  been  glued  down  to  books,  does  not  rest  on  his  stom- 
ach, and  there  is  no  need  of  telling  him  to  hold  up  his 
head.  Neither  shame  nor  fear  has  ever  made  him  bow  it. 

Let  us  make  room  for  him  in  the  midst  of  an  assem- 
bly. Examine  him,  gentlemen  ;  interrogate  him  without 
reserve,  and  be  in  no  apprehension  either  of  his  impor- 
tunities, his  babble,  or  his  indiscreet  questions.  Have  no 
fear  that  he  will  take  possession  of  you,  that  he  will  pre- 
sume to  engross  your  whole  attention,  and  that  you  will 
no  longer  be  able  to  shake  him  off. 

Nor  should  you  expect  from  him  agreeable  small-talk, 
nor  that  he  tell  you  things  which  I  have  dictated  to  him. 
Expect  from  him  only  the  truth,  artless  and  simple,  with- 
out ornament,  without  affectation,  and  without  vanity. 
He  will  tell  you  whatever  wrong  he  has  done  or  thought, 
just  as  freely  as  he  will  the  good,  without  feeling  em- 
barrassed in  any  way  by  the  effect  which  his  utterances 
will  produce  on  you.  The  speech  that  he  will  employ 
will  have  all  the  simplicity  of  its  primitive  institution. 

We  are  fond  of  forming  happy  predictions  of  children, 
and  we  always  feel  regret  for  that  stream  of  absurdities 
which  almost  always  comes  to  overthrow  the  hopes  that  we 
have  founded  on  some  happy  witticism  which  has  chanced 
to  fall  from  their  lips.  If  my  pupil  rarely  furnishes  such 
hopes,  he  will  never  occasion  this  regret ;  for  he  never 
speaks  a  useless  word,  and  does  not  exhaust  himself  on 


THE   CHILD   FROM   THE   AGE   OF  FIVE   TO   TWELVE.    125 

babble  which  he  knows  receives  no  attention.  His  ideas 
are  limited,  but  they  are  clear ;  if  he  knows  nothing  by 
heart,  he  knows  much  by  experience ;  if  he  reads  less 
than  other  children  in  our  books,  he  reads  better  in  the 
book  of  Nature ;  his  mind  is  not  in  his  tongue,  but  in  his 
head ;  he  has  less  memory  than  judgment ;  he  knows  how 
to  speak  but  one  language,  but  he  understands  what  he 
says ;  and  if  he  does  not  speak  as  well  as  others,  he  has 
the  merit  of  doing  better  than  they  do. 

He  does  not  know  what  routine,  usage,  and  habit  are. 
What  he  did  yesterday  has  no  influence  on  what  he  does 
to-day.*  He  follows  no  formula,  yields  neither  to  author- 
ity nor  to  example,  and  neither  acts  nor  speaks  save  as  it 
seems  best  to  him.  So  expect  from  him  neither  formal 
conversation  nor  studied  manners,  but  always  the  faithful 
expression  of  his  ideas,  and  the  conduct  which  springs 
from  his  inclinations. 

You  will  find  in  him  a  small  number  of  moral  notions 
which  relate  to  his  actual  condition,  but  none  bearing  on 
the  relative  condition  of  men.  And  of  what  use  would 
these  be  to  him,  since  a  child  is  not  yet  an  active  mem- 
ber of  society  ?  Speak  to  him  of  liberty,  of  property,  and 
even  of  convention,  and  he  can  understand  you  so  far. 
He  knows  why  that  which  belongs  to  him  is  his  own,  and 

*  The  charm  of  habit  comes  from  the  indolence  natural  to  man, 
and  this  indolence  increases  as  we  abandon  ourselves  to  it.  We  do 
more  easily  what  we  have  already  done ;  the  route  having  been 
marked  out,  it  becomes  the  easier  to  follow.  Thus  it  is  observed 
that  the  power  of  habit  is  very  great  in  old  men  and  indolent  peo- 
ple, and  very  small  in  the  young  and  in  active  people.  This  power 
is  good  only  for  weak  natures,  and  it  enfeebles  them  more  and  more 
from  day  to  day.  The  only  habit  useful  to  children  is  to  subject 
themselves  without  trouble  to  the  necessity  of  things,  and  the  only 
habit  useful  to  men  is  to  subject  themselves  without  trouble  to 
reason.  Every  other  habit  is  a  vice. 


126  EMILE. 

why  that  which  does  not  belong  to  him  is  not  his  own-, 
but  beyond  this  he  knows  nothing.  Speak  to  him  of  duty, 
or  of  obedience,  and  he  does  not  know  what  you  mean. 
Command  him  to  do  something,  he  will  not  understand 
you  ;  but  say  to  him, "  Do  me  this  favor,  and  I  will  do  the 
same  for  you  when  I  have  an  opportunity,"  and  instantly 
he  will  make  haste  to  please  you,  for  he  asks  nothing  bet- 
ter than  to  extend  his  authority,  and  to  acquire  rights 
over  you  which  he  knows  to  be  inviolable.  Perhaps  he 
is  not  even  averse  to  holding  a  place,  to  making  up  a 
number,  and  to  be  counted  for  something ;  but  if  he  has 
this  last  motive,  he  has  already  departed  from  Nature, 
and  you  have  not  properly  closed  in  advance  all  the 
avenues  of  vanity. 

On  his  part,  if  he  needs  any  assistance  he  will  ask  it 
indifferently  of  the  first  one  he  meets ;  he  would  ask  it 
of  the  king  just  as  he  would  of  his  servant ;  for  in  his 
eyes  all  men  are  still  equal.  By  his  manner  of  asking, 
you  see  that  he  feels  that  no  one  owes  him  anything ;  he 
knows  that  what  he  asks  is  a  favor.  He  knows  also  that 
men  are  inclined  to  grant  these  favors.  'His  expressions 
are  simple  and  laconic.  His  voice,  his  looks,  and  his 
movements  are  those  of  a  being  equally  accustomed  to 
compliance  and  to  refusal.  It  is  neither  the  cringing  and 
servile  submission  of  a  slave,  nor  the  imperious  tone  of  a 
master,  but  a  modest  confidence  in  a  fellow-creature ;  it  is 
the  noble  and  touching  sweetness  of  a  free  but  sensitive 
and  feeble  being,  who  implores  the  assistance  of  one  who 
is  free,  but  strong  and  beneficent.  If  you  grant  his  re- 
quest, he  will  not  thank  you,  but  will  feel  that  he  has 
contracted  a  debt.  If  you  refuse  him,  he  will  not  com- 
plain nor  insist,  for  he  knows  that  this  will  be  use- 
less. He  will  not  say  that  he  has  been  refused,  but 
that  what  he  asked  could  not  be  granted ;  for,  as  I  have 


THE  CHILD  FEOM   THE  AGE   OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.    127 

already  said,  we  rarely  rebel  against  a  well-recognized 
necessity. 

Leave  him  to  himself  in  perfect  liberty,  and  observe 
what  he  does  without  saying  anything  to  him ;  consider 
what  he  will  do  and  how  he  will  go  about  it.  Having  no 
need  of  being  assured  that  he  is  free,  he  never  does  any- 
thing thoughtlessly,  or  simply  to  exhibit  his  power  over 
himself.  Does  he  not  know  that  he  is  always  master  of 
his  own  conduct?  He  is  alert,  catick,  agile;  his  move- 
ments have  all  the  vivacity  of  his  age,  but  you  do  not  see 
one  which  has  not  a  purpose.  Whatever  he  chooses  to 
do,  he  will  never  undertake  anything  which  is  beyond  his 
powers,  for  he  has  fairly  tested  them  and  knows  them. 
The  means  he  employs  will  always  be  adapted  to  his  de- 
signs, and  he  will  rarely  act  without  being  assured  of  suc- 
cess. He  will  have  an  attentive  and  discerning  eye,  and 
will  never  go  about  foolishly  interrogating  others  concern- 
ing everything  he  sees ;  but  he  will  examine  it  himself,  and 
will  leave  no  effort  untried  to  find  out  what  he  wishes  to 
know  before  soliciting  it  from  others.  If  he  falls  into 
unforeseen  difficulties,  he  will  be  less  disturbed  than  an- 
other ;  and  if  there  is  risk  to  run,  he  will  also  be  less  dis- 
mayed. As  his  imagination  still  remains  inactive,  and  as 
nothing  has  been  done  to  stimulate  it,  he  sees  only  what 
is  real,  estimates  dangers  for  only  what  they  are  worth, 
and  always  maintains  his  composure.  He  has  too  often 
felt  the  pressure  of  necessity  to  be  still  kicking  against 
it ;  he  has  felt  its  yoke  from  his  birth,  and  has  become 
fully  accustomed  to  it ;  he  is  always  ready  for  whatever 
may  happen. 

Whether  he  is  at  work  or  at  play,  he  is  content  with 
either ;  his  sports  are  his  occupations,  and  he  feels  no 
difference  between  them.  Into  whatever  he  does  he 
throws  an  interest  which  excites  cheerfulness  and  a 


128  EMILE. 

liberty  which  gives  pleasure ;  and  this  exhibits  both  his 
turn  of  mind  and  the  range  of  his  knowledge.  Is  it  not 
a  charming  and  grateful  sight  to  see  a  pretty  child,  with 
bright  and  merry  eye,  with  pleased  and  placid  mien,  with 
open  and  smiling  countenance,  doing  the  most  serious 
things  under  the  guise  of  play,  or  profoundly  occupied 
with  the  most  frivolous  amusements  ? 

Do  you  now  wish  to  judge  of  him  by  comparison  ?  Put 
him  among  other  children  and  let  him  act.  You  will 
soon  see  which  is  the  most  truly  educated,  which  most 
nearly  approaches  the  perfection  of  their  age.  Among 
city  children,  there  is  none  more  dexterous  than  he,  but 
he  is  stronger  than  any  other.  Among  the  young  peas- 
antry, he  equals  them  in  strength  and  surpasses  them  in 
skill.  In  everything  which  is  within  the  compass  of  in- 
fancy, he  judges,  reasons,  and  foresees  better  than  any  one 
else.  As  to  working,  running,  jumping,  moving  bodies, 
lifting  masses,  estimating  distances,  inventing  amuse- 
ments, and  gaining  prizes,  it  might  be  said  that  Nature 
is  at  his  command,  so  easy  is  it  for  him  to  make  every- 
thing bend  to  his  will.  He  is  made  for  guiding  and 
governing  his  equals.  Talent  and  experience  serve  him 
instead  of  law  and  authority.  It  matters  little  what  dress 
or  name  you  give  him ;  he  will  everywhere  take  prece- 
dence, will  everywhere  become  the  chief  of  others.  They 
will  always  feel  his  superiority  over  them.  Without 
wishing  to  command,  he  will  always  be  their  master ;  and 
without  thinking  of  obedience,  they  will  always  obey. 

Emile  has  arrived  at  the  end  of  the  period  of  infancy, 
has  lived  the  life  of  a  child,  and  has  not  bought  his  per- 
fection at  the  cost  of  his  happiness.  On  the  contrary, 
they  have  lent  each  other  mutual  aid.  While  acquiring 
all  the  reason  suited  to  his  age,  he  has  been  as  happy  and 
as  free  as  his  constitution  permitted  him  to  be.  If  the 


THE  CHILD  FROM  THE  AGE  OF  FIVE  TO  TWELVE.   129 

fatal  scythe  has  come  to  cut  down  in  him  the  flower  of  our 
hopes,  we  shall  not  have  to  mourn  at  the  same  time  his 
life  and  his  death,  nor  to  intensify  our  griefs  by  the  recol- 
lection of  those  which  we  have  caused  him ;  and  we  can 
say  to  ourselves  that  he  has  at  least  enjoyed  his  childhood, 
and  that  we  have  caused  him  to  lose  nothing  of  all  that 
Nature  had  given  him. 

The  great  disadvantage  of  this  primary  education  is 
that  none  but  clear-sighted  men  take  account  of  it,  and 
that,  in  a  child  educated  with  such  care,  vulgar  eyes  see 
nothing  but  a  vagabond.  A  teacher  thinks  of  his  own 
interest  rather  than  that  of  his  pupil.  He  endeavors  to 
prove  that  he  does  not  waste  his  time,  and  that  he  earns 
the  money  which  is  paid  him ;  and  so  he  furnishes  the 
child  with  acquisitions  capable  of  easy  display,  and  which 
can  be  exhibited  at  will.  Provided  it  can  easily  be  seen, 
it  matters  not  whether  what  he  learns  is  useful.  He  stores 
his  memory  with  this  rubbish,  without  discernment  and 
without  choice.  When  the  time  comes  for  examining  the 
child,  he  is  made  to  display  his  wares ;  he  brings  them  out, 
and  we  are  satisfied ;  then  he  ties  up  his  bundle  and  goes 
his  way.  My  pupil  is  not  so  rich ;  he  has  no  bundle  to 
display,  and  has  nothing  to  show  but  himself.  Now,  a 
child  can  no  more  be  seen  in  a  moment  than  a  man. 
Where  are  the  observers  who  can  seize  at  the  first  glance 
the  traits  which  characterize  him  ?  There  are  such,  but 
they  are  few ;  and  out  of  a  hundred  fathers  not  one  of 
this  number  will  be  found. 

Too  many  questions  weary  and  disgust  people  in  gen- 
eral, and  especially  children.  At  the  end  of  a  few  minutes 
their  attention  flags ;  they  no  longer  hear  what  a  persistent 
questioner  requires  of  them,  and  no  longer  reply  save  at 
random.  This  manner  of  examining  them  is  vain  and 
pedantic.  It  often  happens  that  a  random  word  portrays 


130 

their  mind  and  heart  better  than  a  long  discourse  could 
do ;  but  care  must  be  taken  that  this  word  is  neither  dic- 
tated nor  fortuitous.  We  must  have  good  judgment  our- 
selves in  order  to  appreciate  the  judgment  of  a  child. 

I  once  heard  the  late  Lord  Hyde  relate  an  anecdote 
concerning  one  of  his  friends,  who,  having  returned  from 
Italy  after  an  absence  of  three  years,  wished  to  examine 
the  progress  of  his  son,  a  boy  nine  or  ten  years  of  age.  In 
company  with  the  child  and  his  tutor,  they  were  walking 
one  afternoon  where  pupils  were  engaged  in  the  sport  of 
flying  their  kites.  As  they  were  going  along,  the  father 
said  to  his  son,  "  Where  is  the  kite  whose  shadow  we  see 
yonder?"  Without  hesitating  or  raising  his  head,  the 
child  replied,  "  On  the  highway."  And  in  fact,  added 
Lord  Hyde,  the  highway  was  between  us  and  the  sun. 
At  this  reply  the  father  embraced  his  son,  and,  finishing 
the  examination  at  that  point,  continued  his  walk  with- 
out saying  a  word.  The  next  day  he  sent  the  tutor  a  life- 
pension  in  addition  to  his  salary. 

What  a  man  that  father  was !  And  what  a  son  was 
promised  him  !  *  The  question  was  precisely  adapted  to 
the  child's  age.  The  reply  was  very  simple  ;  but  observe 
what  accuracy  of  childish  judgment  it  supposes.  It  is 
thus  that  Aristotle's  pupil  f  tamed  the  celebrated  steed  J 
which  no  horseman  could  subdue. 

*  A  letter  of  Rousseau  to  Madame  Latour  de  Franqueville,  Sep- 
tember 26,  1762,  informs  us  that  this  young  man  was  the  Count  de 
Gisors.  He  will  be  mentioned  again  in  Book  V. 

f  Alexander  the  Great. 

\  Bucephalus.  The  horse  was  frightened  only  at  his  shadow. 
The  young  Alexander  discovered  the  cause  and  the  remedy. 


BOOK   THIRD. 

FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN  — THE   PERIOD  OF  INTEL- 
LECTUAL EDUCATION. 

ALTHOUGH  the  whole  course  of  life  up  to  adolescence 
is  a  period  of  weakness,  there  is  a  point  in  the  course  of 
this  first  stage  of  life  when,  growth  in  power  having  sur- 
passed the  growth  of  needs,  the  growing  animal,  still 
absolutely  weak,  becomes  relatively  strong.  All  his  needs 
not  being  developed,  his  actual  powers  are  more  than 
sufficient  to  provide  for  those  which  he  has.  As  a  man 
he  would  be  very  weak,  but  as  a  child  he  is  very  strong. 

Whence  comes  the  weakness  of  man  ?  From  the  in- 
equality which  exists  between  his  strength  and  his  desires. 
It  is  our  passions  which  make  us  weak,  because  we  need 
more  strength  than  Nature  gives  us  in  order  to  satisfy  them. 
Therefore,  to  diminish  our  desires  is  the  same  as  to  aug- 
ment our  powers.  He  whose  strength  exceeds  his  desires 
has  some  power  to  spare ;  he  is  certainly  a  very  strong 
being.  This  is  the  third  stage  of  childhood,  and  the  one 
of  which  I  have  now  to  speak. 

At  the  age  of  twelve  or  thirteen  the  strength  of  the 
child  is  developed  much  more  rapidly  than  his  needs. 
The  most  violent,  the  most  terrible,  has  not  yet  made 
itself  felt  in  him.  But  slightly  sensitive  to  the  bad  effects 
of  air  and  weather,  he  braves  them  without  danger ;  the 
growing  warmth  of  his  body  takes  the  place  of  clothing ; 

his  appetite  serves  him.  instead  of  condiments ;  whatever 
12 


132  EMILE. 

can  nourish  him  satisfies  one  of  his  age ;  if  he  is  sleepy, 
he  stretches  himself  on  the  ground  and  sleeps.  He  sees 
himself  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  everything  that  is 
necessary  for  him ;  no  imaginary  need  torments  him ;  he 
is  unaffected  by  opinion ;  his  desires  reach  no  further  than 
his  arms.  He  is  not  only  able  to  find  a  sufficiency  in 
himself,  but  he  has  strength  in  excess  of  his  needs ;  and 
this  is  the  only  time  in  his  life  when  he  will  be  in  this 
condition. 

I  foresee  an  objection.  I  shall  not  be  told  that  the 
child  has  more  needs  than  I  ascribe  to  him,  but  it  will  be 
denied  that  he  has  the  power  that  I  attribute  to  him. 
People  will  not  reflect  that  I  am  speaking  of  my  own  pupil, 
and  not  of  those  walking  dolls  for  whom  it  is  a  journey  to 
go  from  one  room  to  another,  who  are  so  boxed  up  as  to 
labor  for  breath,  and  carry  about  burdens  of  pasteboard. 
I  shall  be  told  that  manly  strength  manifests  itself  only 
at  the  period  of  manhood ;  and  that  the  vital  forces, 
elaborated  in  special  organs  and  distributed  through  the 
whole  body,  can  alone  give  to  the  muscles  that  consist- 
ency, activity,  tone,  and  spring  which  are  needed  to  pro- 
duce real  strength.  This  is  the  philosophy  of  books,  but 
I  appeal  to  experience.  Out  in  your  fields  I  see  large 
boys  tilling  the  earth,  dressing  vines,  holding  the  plow, 
handling  a  cask  of  wine,  and  driving  a  wagon,  just  as 
their  father  would.  They  would  be  taken  for  men  if  the 
sound  of  their  voices  did  not  betray  them.  Even  in  our 
cities,  young  artisans,  such  as  blacksmiths,  sledge-tool 
makers,  and  farriers,  are  almost  as  robust  as  their  masters, 
and  would  be  hardly  less  skillful  if  they  had  been  properly 
trained.  If  there  is  any  difference — and  I  grant  that  there 
is — it  is  much  less,  I  repeat,  than  that  between  the  vehe- 
ment desires  of  a  man  and  the  moderate  desires  of  a  child. 
Moreover,  it  is  not  simply  a  question  of  physical  strength, 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO   FIFTEEN.  133 

but  especially  of  that  strength  and  capacity  of  mind  which 
supplies  and  directs  it. 

This  interval  when  the  power  of  the  individual  is 
greater  than  his  desires,  although  it  is  not  the  period  of 
his  greatest  absolute  strength,  is,  as  I  have  said,  the 
period  of  his  greatest  relative  strength.  It  is  the  most 
precious  period  of  life,  a  period  which  comes  but  once ; 
it  is  very  short,  and  all  the  shorter,  as  we  shall  subse- 
quently see,  because  it  is  the  more  important  that  it  be 
well  employed. 

What,  then,  shall  our  pupil  do  with  that  surplus  of 
faculties  and  powers  which  he  has  on  hand  at  present, 
but  which  he  will  stand  in  need  of  at  a  subsequent  period 
of  life  ?  He  will  endeavor  to  employ  it  in  tasks  which 
may  profit  him  when  the  occasion  comes ;  he  will  project 
into  the  future,  so  to  speak,  that  which  is  superfluous  for 
the  time  being.  The  robust  child  will  make  provisions 
for  the  feeble  man  ;  but  he  will  place  these  stores  neither 
in  coffers  which  can  be  stolen  from  him,  nor  in  barns 
which  are  not  his  own.  In  order  that  he  may  really 
appropriate  his  acquisitions  to  himself,  it  is  in  his  arms,  in 
his  head,  and  in  himself,  that  he  will  lodge  them.  This, 
then,  is  the  period  of  labor,  of  instruction,  and  of  study ; 
and  observe,  it  is  not  I  who  have  arbitrarily  made  this 
choice,  but  it  is  Nature  herself  who  indicates  it. 

Human  intelligence  has  its  limits;  and  not  only  is 
man  unable  to  know  everything,  but  he  can  not  even 
know  completely  the  little  that  other  men  know.  Since 
the  contradictory  of  every  false  proposition  is  a  truth,  the 
number  of  truths  is  as  inexhaustible  as  the  number  of 
errors.  There  is,  then,  a  choice  in  the  things  which  ought 
to  be  taught,  as  well  as  in  the  time  which  is  fit  for  learn- 
ing them.  Of  the  knowledges  which  are  within  our  reach, 
some  are  false,  some  are  useless,  and  others  serve  to  nour- 


134:  tfMILE. 

ish  the  pride  of  him  who  has  them.  The  small  number 
of  those  which  really  contribute  to  our  well-being  are 
alone  worthy  the  pursuit  of  a  wise  man,  and  consequently 
of  a  child  whom  we  wish  to  render  such.  It  is  not  at  all 
necessary  to  know  everything,  but  merely  that  which  is 
useful. 

From  this  small  number  we  must  still  subtract  the 
truths  which  require,  for  being  comprehended,  an  under- 
standing already  formed ;  such  as  those  which  suppose 
a  knowledge  of  the  relations  of  man  to  man,  which  a 
child  can  not  acquire  ;  or  those  which,  while  true  in  them- 
selves, dispose  an  inexperienced  mind  to  think  falsely  on 
other  subjects. 

We  are  thus  reduced  to  a  circle  which  is  very  small 
with  respect  to  the  existence  of  things ;  but  yet  what  an 
immense  sphere  this  circle  forms  with  respect  to  the  mind 
of  a  child  !  What  rash  hands  shall  dare  to  touch  the  veil 
which  darkens  the  human  understanding?  What  abysses 
I  see  dug  by  our  vain  sciences  about  this  young  unfortu- 
nate !  0  thou  who  art  to  conduct  him  in  his  perilous 
paths,  and  to  draw  from  before  his  eyes  the  sacred  curtain 
of  Nature,  tremble !  In  the  first  place,  make  very  sure  of 
his  head  and  your  own,  and  have  a  fear  lest  either  or 
both  become  giddy.  Beware  of  the  specious  attractions 
of  falsehood  and  of  the  intoxicating  fumes  of  pride. 
Remember,  ever  remember,  that  ignorance  has  never 
been  productive  of  evil,  but  that  error  alone  is  dangerous, 
and  that  we  do  not  miss  our  way  through  what  we  do  not 
know,  but  through  what  we  falsely  think  we  know. 

His  progress  in  geometry  may  serve  you  as  a  certain 
test  and  measure  for  the  development  of  his  intelligence ; 
but  as  soon  as  he  can  discern  what  is  useful  and  what  is 
not,  it  is  important  to  use  much  tact  and  skill  to  interest 
him  in  speculative  studies.  If  you  wish,  for  example,  to 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  135 

have  him  find  a  mean  proportional  between  two  lines, 
begin  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  necessary  for  him  to  find 
a  square  equal  to  a  given  rectangle.  If  two  mean  pro- 
portionals are  required,  we  must  first  interest  him  in  the 
problem  of  the  duplication  of  the  cube,  etc.  Observe  how 
we  are  gradually  approaching  the  moral  notions  which 
distinguish  good  from  evil.  Up  to  this  time  we  have 
known  no  law  save  that  of  necessity ;  we  now  have  regard 
to  that  which  is  useful ;  and  we  shall  soon  come  to  what 
is  proper  and  good. 

The  same  instinct  animates  the  different  faculties  of 
man.  To  the  activity  of  the  body,  which  seeks  to  develop 
itself,  succeeds  the  activity  of  the  mind,  which  seeks  to  be 
instructed.  At  first,  children  are  merely  restless,  then 
they  are  curious ;  and  this  curiosity,  well  directed,  is  the 
motive  power  (mobile  *)  of  the  age  which  we  have  now 
reached.  Let  us  always  distinguish  the  inclinations  which 
come  from  Nature  from  those  which  come  from  opinion. 
There  is  an  ardor  for  knowledge  which  is  founded  merely 
on  the  desire  to  be  esteemed  wise ;  but  there  is  another 
which  springs  from  a  curiosity  natural  to  man  for  all  that 
can  interest  him  from  near  or  from  far.  The  innate  desire 
for  well-being,  and  the  impossibility  of  fully  satisfying  this 
desire,  cause  him  to  seek  without  intermission  means  for 
contributing  to  it.  Such  is  the  first  principle  of  curiosity — 
a  principle  natural  to  the  human  heart,  but  the  develop- 
ment of  which  takes  place  only  in  proportion  to  the 
growth  of  our  passions  and  our  intelligence.  Imagine  a 
philosopher  banished  to  a  desert  isle  with  his  instruments 

*  By  mobile,  according  to  Jouffroy,  is  meant  the  element  of  feel- 
ing, which  is  one  factor  in  action.  The  term  motif  is  used  to  desig- 
nate the  rational  element  in  action.  Maternal  affection  is  a  mobile, 
while  a  cool  consideration  of  duty  is  a  motif.  See  Marion's  Psy- 
chologie  appliquee  a  1'education,  p.  127, — (P.) 


136 

and  his  books,  sure  of  spending  there  in  solitude  the  rest 
of  his  days ;  he  will  hardly  occupy  himself  longer  with 
the  solar  system,  with  the  laws  of  attraction,  or  with 
the  differential  calculus.  Perhaps  he  will  not  open  a 
single  book  during  the  remainder  of  his  life ;  but  he 
wi/1  never  refrain  from  visiting  his  isle,  even  to  the  re- 
motest corner,  however  great  it  may  be.  Let  us  then 
likewise  reject  from  our  primary  studies  those  branches 
of  knowledge  for  which  man  has  not  a  natural  taste,  and 
let  us  limit  ourselves  to  those  which  instinct  leads  us  to 
pursue. 

The  earth  is  the  isle  of  the  human  race ;  and  the  ob- 
ject which  strikes  our  eyes  the  most  forcibly  is  the  sun. 
The  moment  we  begin  to  go  beyond  ourselves,  our  first 
observations  will  naturally  fall  on  these  two  objects.  Thus 
the  philosophy  of  almost  all  savage  peoples  is  occupied 
wholly  with  the  imaginary  divisions  of  the  earth  and  the 
divinity  of  the  sun. 

"  What  a  leap  !  "  some  one  will  possibly  say.  A  moment 
ago  we  were  occupied  simply  with  what  touches  us,  with 
what  immediately  surrounds  us ;  but  all  at  once  we  are 
scouring  the  globe,  and  leaping  to  the  extremities  of  the 
universe.  This  sudden  transition  is  the  effect  of  our  pro- 
gress in  power,  and  of  our  mental  inclinations.  In  our 
state  of  feebleness  and  insufficiency,  the  care  of  self-pres- 
ervation wraps  us  up  within  ourselves ;  while  in  our  state 
of  potency  and  strength,  the  desire  to  give  extension  to  our 
being  carries  us  out  of  ourselves  and  makes  us  reach  out 
as  far  as  it  is  possible  for  us  to  go ;  but,  as  the  intellectual 
world  is  still  unknown  to  us,  our  thought  goes  no  farther 
than  our  eyes,  and  our  understanding  widens  only  with 
the  space  which  it  measures. 

Let  us  transform  our  sensations  into  ideas,  but  let  us 
not  jump  abruptly  from  sensible  objects  to  intellectual 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  137 

objects ;  for  it  is  through  the  first  that  we  are  to  reach 
the  second.  In  the  first  movements  of  the  mind,  let  the 
senses  always  be  its  guides ;  let  there  be  no  book  but  the 
world,  and  no  other  instruction  than  facts.  The  child 
who  reads  does  not  think — he  merely  reads ;  he  is  not  re- 
ceiving instruction,  but  is  learning  words. 

Make  your  pupil  attentive  to  natural  phenomena,  and 
you  will  soon  make  him  curious ;  but,  in  order  to  nourish 
his  curiosity,  never  be  in  haste  to  satisfy  it.  Ask  ques- 
tions that  are  within  his  comprehension,  and  leave  him  to 
resolve  them.  Let  him  know  nothing  because  you  have 
told  it  to  him,  but  because  he  has  comprehended  it  him- 
self ;  he  is  not  to  learn  science,  but  to  discover  it.*  If  you 
ever  substitute  in  his  mind  authority  for  reason,  he  will 
no  longer  reason ;  he  will  be  but  the  sport  of  others' 
opinions. 

You  wish  to  teach  this  child  geography,  and  you  go  in 
search  of  globes,  spheres,  and  maps.  What  machines! 
Why  all  these  representations  ?  Why  not  begin  by  show- 
ing him  the  object  itself,  so  that  he  may  know,  at  least, 
what  you  are  talking  about ! 

On  a  fine  evening  you  go  out  to  walk  in  a  favorable 
place  where  the  horizon,  happily  unclouded,  allows  a  full 
view  of  the  setting  sun,  and  you  observe  the  objects  which 

*  The  spirit  of  this  precept  is  good ;  the  child  should  be  "  curious 
to  learn  and  never  satisfied  "  ;  but  the  teacher  can  not  proceed  far  on 
the  hypothesis  that  learning  is  a  process  of  rediscovery,  and  that 
knowledge  is  synonymous  with  personal  experience.  Mr.  Bain 
rightly  calls  such  an  assumption  a  "  bold  fiction."  Rediscovery 
is  impossible  in  history,  and  impracticable,  save  to  a  limited  extent, 
even  in  science.  Rousseau's  denunciation  of  authority  is  well 
enough  as  a  protest  and  a  warning  against  a  servile  dependence  on 
it ;  but  no  sane  man  can  renounce  authority  if  he  would,  and  would 
not  if  he  could. — (P.) 


138  tiMILE. 

make  it  possible  to  recognize  the  place  of  his  setting. 
On  the  morrow,  in  order  to  take  an  airing,  you  return  to 
the  same  place  before  the  sun  has  risen.  You  see  his 
coming  announced  from  afar  by  flashes  of  fire  which  he 
shoots  forth  before  him.  The  conflagration  increases; 
the  east  seems  all  in  flames.  From  their  brightness  we 
expect  the  sun  long  before  he  comes  to  view;  at  each 
moment  we  think  we  see  him  approaching,  but  at  last  he 
comes.  A  brilliant  point  darts  forth  like  lightning  and 
at  once  fills  all  space ;  the  veil  of  shadows  is  effaced  and 
falls.  Man  recognizes  his  place  of  sojourn  and  finds  it 
embellished.  During  the  night  the  verdure  has  acquired 
new  vigor;  the  rising  day  which  illumines  it,  and  the 
early  rays  which  gild  it,  show  it  covered  with  a  brilliant 
tracery  of  dew  which  reflects  light  and  colors  to  the  eye. 
The  birds  unite  in  chorus,  and  salute  in  concert  the 
father  of  life.  At  this  moment  not  one  is  silent ;  their 
chirping,  still  feeble,  is  slower  and  sweeter  than  in  the  rest 
of  the  day,  as  if  feeling  the  languor  of  a  peaceful  awaken- 
ing. The  concourse  of  all  these  objects  brings  to  the 
senses  an  impression  of  freshness  which  penetrates  even 
to  the  soul.  This  has  been  a  half -hour  of  enchantment 
which  no  man  can  resist ;  a  spectacle  so  grand,  so  beauti- 
ful, so  delicious,  leaves  no  one  with  a  heart  untouched. 

Full  of  the  enthusiasm  which  he  has  experienced,  the 
teacher  wishes  to  communicate  it  to  the  child.  He  fan- 
cies he  can  move  him  by  making  him  attentive  to  the 
sensations  by  which  he  himself  has  been  moved.  Pure 
folly !  The  living  spectacle  of  Nature  is  in  the  heart  of 
man ;  and  to  see  it,  it  must  be  felt.  The  child  perceives 
objects;  but  he  can  not  perceive  the  relations  which 
unite  them,  and  can  not  hear  the  sweet  harmony  of  their 
concert.  He  needs  an  experience  which  he  has  not 
acquired,  and  emotions  which  he  has  not  experienced, 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  139 

in  order  to  feel  the  composite  impression  which  results 
at  once  from  all  these  sensations.  If  he  has  not  long 
traversed  arid  plains,  if  hot  sands  have  not  burned 
his  feet,  if  the  stifling  reflections  of  the  sun's  rays  from 
the  rocks  have  never  oppressed  him,  how  will  he  enjoy 
the  fresh  air  of  a  beautiful  morning  ?  How  will  the  per- 
fume of  flowers,  the  charm  of  the  verdure,  the  humid 
vapor  of  the  dew,  and  the  soft  and  peaceful  step  on  the 
lawn  enchant  his  senses?  How  will  the  song  of  birds 
cause  him  a  rapturous  emotion,  if  the  accents  of  love  and 
pleasure  are  still  unknown  to  him  ?  With  what  trans- 
ports will  he  see  the  dawn  of  a  beautiful  day,  if  his  imagi- 
nation can  not  paint  for  him  those  with  which  it  may  be 
fiJled  ?  Finally,  how  will  he  be  affected  by  the  beautiful 
spectacle  of  Nature,  if  he  does  not  know  the  hand  that 
has  taken  care  to  adorn  it  ? 

Do  not  address  to  the  child  discourses  which  he  can 
not  understand.  Let  there  be  no  descriptions,  no  elo- 
quence, no  figures  of  speech,  no  poetry.  Neither  senti- 
ment nor  taste  is  now  at  stake.  Continue  to  be  simple, 
clear,  and  dispassionate;  the  time  will  come,  only  too 
soon,  for  assuming  a  different  language. 

Educated  in  the  spirit  of  our  maxims,  and  accustomed 
to  derive  all  his  instruments  from  himself,  and  never  to 
resort  to  another  until  after  having  recognized  his  own 
insufficiency,  he  examines  each  new  object  which  he  sees 
for  a  long  time  without  saying  anything.  He  is  thought- 
ful, but  asks  no  questions.  Be  content,  then,  with  pre- 
senting to  him  suitable  objects ;  and  then,  when  you  see 
his  curiosity  sufficiently  excited,  address  to  him  some 
laconic  question  which  will  put  him  in  the  way  of  resolv- 
ing it. 

On  the  occasion  just  stated,  after  having  attentively 
contemplated  with  him  the  rising  sun  —  after  having 


140  EMILE. 

caused  him  to  observe  in  the  same  direction  the  mount- 
ains and  other  neighboring  objects — after  having  allowed 
him  to  talk  of  these  things,  wholly  at  his  ease,  keep  silent 
for  a  few  moments,  like  a  man  who  is  dreaming,  and  then 
say  to  him  :  "  I  think  that  last  evening  the  sun  set  yonder, 
and  that  he  rose  at  another  place  this  morning ;  how  can 
you  account  for  this  ?  "  Add  nothing  more.  If  he  ad- 
dresses questions  to  you,  do  not  reply  to  them,  but  speak 
of  something  else.  Leave  him  to  himself,  and  you  may 
be  sure  that  he  will  set  himself  to  thinking. 

In  order  that  a  child  may  accustom  himself  to  being 
attentive,  and  that  he  may  be  thoroughly  impressed  with 
some  sensible  truth,  it  is  necessary  that  it  give  him  some 
days  of  unrest  before  he  discover  it.  If  he  does  not  form 
a  proper  conception  of  it  in  this  way,  there  is  a  means  of 
making  it  still  more  obvious  to  him,  and  this  is  to  repeat 
the  question  in  a  different  form.  If  he  does  not  know 
how  the  sun  goes  from  his  setting  to  his  rising,  he  knows, 
at  least,  how  he  goes  from  his  rising  to  his  setting ;  his 
eyes  alone  teach  him  this.  Elucidate  the  first  question  by 
the  second ;  and  your  pupil  is  either  absolutely  stupid,  or 
the  analogy  is  too  clear  to  escape  him.  This  is  his  first 
lesson  in  astronomy. 

As  we  always  proceed  slowly  from  one  sensible  idea  to 
another,  as  we  familiarize  ourselves  for  a  long  time  with 
the  same  thing  before  passing  to  another,  and,  finally,  as 
we  never  force  our  pupil  to  be  attentive,  it  is  a  long  dis- 
tance from  this  first  lesson  to  the  knowledge  of  the  revo- 
lution of  the  sun  and  the  shape  of  the  earth ;  but  as  all 
the  apparent  movements  of  the  celestial  bodies  depend  on 
the  same  principle,  and  as  the  first  observation  leads  to  all 
the  others,  it  requires  less  effort,  though  more  time,  to 
pass  from  the  earth's  diurnal  revolution  to  the  calculation  of 
eclipses,  than  to  form  a  proper  conception  of  day  and  night. 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN. 

We  have  seen  the  sun  rise  on  St.-John's-day,  and  we 
.shall  also  see  him  rise  on  Christmas-day,  or  some  other 
fine  day  of  winter ;  for  it  is  known  that  we  are  not  indo- 
lent, and  that  it  is  a  pastime  for  us  to  brave  the  cold.  I 
take  care  to  make  this  second  observation  in  the  same 
place  where  we  had  made  the  first ;  and  by  means  of  some 
tact  in  order  to  prepare  the  way  for  the  remark,  one  or 
the  other  of  us  will  not  fail  to  exclaim :  "  Oh,  oh  !  This 
is  strange !  The  sun  no  longer  rises  in  the  same  place ! 
Here  are  our  old  records ;  and  now  the  sun  rises  yonder. 
There  is,  then,  one  place  of  rising  in  summer,  and  another 
for  winter."  Youthful  teacher,  you  are  now  on  the  right 
route.  These  examples  ought  to  suffice  you  for  teaching 
the  sphere  with  great  clearness,  while  taking  the  world  for 
the  world  and  the  sun  for  the  sun. 

In  general,  never  substitute  the  sign  for  the  thing 
itself  save  when  it  is  impossible  to  show  the  thing ;  for 
the  sign  absorbs  the  attention  of  the  child  and  makes  him 
forget  the  thing  represented. 

The  armillary  sphere  seems  to  me  a  machine  badly 
arranged,  and  constructed  in  false  proportions.  This 
confusion  of  circles  and  fantastical  figures  which  are 
traced  on  it  give  it  the  air  of  a  conjuring  book,  which 
scares  the  minds  of  children.  The  earth  is  too  small  and 
the  circles  too  large  and  too  numerous ;  some  of  them, 
as  the  colures,  are  perfectly  useless — each  circle  is  wider 
than  the  earth ;  the  thickness  of  the  pasteboard  gives 
them  an  appearance  of  solidity  which  causes  them  to  be 
taken  for  really  existing  circular  masses ;  and  when  you 
tell  the  child  that  these  circles  are  imaginary,  he  does  not 
know  what  he  sees,  and  no  longer  understands  anything. 

We  never  know  how  to  put  ourselves  in  the  place  of 
children ;  we  do  not  enter  into  their  ideas,  but  we  ascribe 
to  them  our  own ;  aud  always  following  our  own  modes 


142  tfMILE. 

of  reasoning  with  series  of  truths,  we  crarn  their  heads 
only  with  extravagances  and  errors. 

It  is  a  disputed  question  whether  we  shall  resort  to 
analysis  or  to  synthesis  *  in  the  study  of  the  sciences ;  but  it 
is  not  always  necessary  to  make  a  choice.  Sometimes  we 
can  resolve  and  compose  in  the  same  researches,  and  may 
guide  the  child  by  the  method  of  instruction  when  he 
fancies  he  is  merely  analyzing.  Then,  while  employing 
both  at  the  same  time,  they  serve  each  other  mutually  in  the 
way  of  tests.  Starting  at  the  same  moment  from  two  oppo- 
site points,  without  thinking  of  traversing  the  same  route, 
he  will  be  wholly  surprised  at  the  unexpected  meeting, 
and  this  surprise  can  not  fail  to  be  very  agreeable.  For 
example,  I  would  begin  the  study  of  geography  from 
these  two  starting-points,  and  connect  with  the  study  of 
the  revolutions  of  the  globe  the  measurements  of  its 
parts,  starting  from  the  place  where  the  child  lives. 
While  the  child  is  studying  the  sphere,  and  is  thus  trans- 
ported into  the  heavens,  recall  his  attention  to  the  divis- 
ions of  the  earth,  and  show  him  at  first  the  spot  where  he 
lives. 

His  first  two  starting-points  in  geography  will  be  the 
city  where  he  lives  and  the  country-seat  of  his  father. 
After  these  will  come  the  intermediate  places,  then  the 

*  By  synthesis,  in  the  study  of  geography,  Rousseau  seems  to  mean 
the  process  which  begins  with  the  immediate  surroundings  of  the 
child,  and,  by  successive  additions  of  territory,  finally  rises  to  the 
conception  of  the  globe  as  a  whole ;  and  by  analysis,  the  counter- 
process  which,  starting  with  a  conception  of  the  globe  as  a  whole; 
or,  it  may  be,  with  the  solar  system,  descends  by  successive  division 
to  the  child's  immediate  neighborhood.  The  ancient  method  was 
analytic,  but  the  modern,  in  obedience  to  the  supposed  requirements 
of  intuition,  has  been  synthetic,  though  there  is  now  a  partial  re- 
turning toward  the  older,  and,  I  venture  to  say,  the  better  and  more 
philosophical  method, — (P.) 


£MILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  143 

neighboring  rivers,  and  lastly  the  observation  of  the  sun, 
and  the  manner  of  finding  one's  way.  This  is  the  point 
of  reunion.  Let  him  make  for  himself  a  map  of  all  this. 
This  map  will  be  very  simple,  and  composed,  at  first,  of 
only  two  objects ;  but  to  these  he  will  gradually  add  the 
others  as  he  ascertains  or  estimates  their  distance  and 
position.  You  already  see  what  advantage  we  have  pro- 
cured for  him  in  advance  by  causing  him  to  use  his  eyes 
for  a  compass. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  it  will  doubtless  be  necessary 
to  guide  him  somewhat ;  but  only  a  very  little,  and  with- 
out seeming  to  guide  him.  If  he  makes  mistakes,  let  him 
do  it ;  do  not  correct  his  errors,  but  wait  in  silence  till  he 
is  in  a  condition  to  see  them  and  to  correct  them  for  him- 
self ;  or,  at  most,  on  a  favorable  occasion  introduce  some 
procedure  which  will  make  him  conscious  of  them.  If 
he  were  never  to  make  mistakes,  he  would  not  learn  so 
well.  Moreover,  it  is  not  proposed  that  he  shall  know  the 
exact  topography  of  the  country,  but  the  means  of  gain- 
ing this  knowledge  for  himself.  It  is  of  little  importance 
for  him  to  carry  maps  in  his  head,  provided  he  has  a  clear 
conception  of  what  they  represent,  and  a  definite  idea 
of  the  art  which  serves  for  constructing  them.  You 
already  see  the  difference  there  is  between  the  learning  of 
your  pupils  and  the  ignorance  of  mine  !  They  know  the 
maps,  but  he  makes  them.  These  are  new  ornaments  for 
his  chamber. 

Always  recollect  that  the  spirit  of  my  system  is  not  to 
teach  the  child  many  things,  but  never  to  allow  anything 
to  enter  his  mind  save  ideas  which  are  accurate  and  clear. 
Though  he  learn  nothing,  it  is  of  little  importance  to  me 
provided  he  is  not  deceived  ;  and  I  furnish  his  head  with 
truths  only  to  protect  him  from  errors  which  he  would 
learn  in  their  place.  Reason  and  judgment  come  slowly  j 


144  EMILE. 

but  prejudices  rush  forward  in  flocks,  and  it  is  from  these 
that  he  must  be  preserved.  But  if  you  make  knowledge 
your  sole  object,  you  enter  a  bottomless  and  shoreless 
sea,  everywhere  strewn  with  rocks,  and  you  will  never 
extricate  yourself  from  it.  When  I  see  a  man  smitten 
with  the  love  of  knowledge  allow  himself  to  be  seduced 
by  its  charm,  and  to  run  from  one  subject  to  another 
without  knowing  how  to  stop,  I  fancy  I  see  a  child  upon 
the  sea-shore  gathering  shells.  At  first,  he  loads  himself 
with  them ;  then,  tempted  by  those  he  sees  beyond,  he 
throws  them  away  and  picks  up  others,  until,  weighed 
down  by  their  number,  and  not  knowing  what  to  select, 
he  ends  by  throwing  all  away  and  returns  empty-handed. 

During  the  period  of  infancy  the  time  was  long,  and 
we  sought  only  to  lose  it,  for  fear  of  making  a  bad  use 
of  it.  It  is  now  the  very  reverse  of  all  this,  and  we  have 
not  time  enough  in  which  to  do  all  that  is  useful.  Reflect 
that  the  passions  are  approaching,  and  that  the  moment 
they  knock  at  the  door  your  pupil  will  no  longer  be 
attentive  save  to  them.  The  peaceful  epoch  of  intelligence 
is  so  short,  it  passes  so  rapidly,  it  has  so  many  necessary 
uses,  that  it  is  folly  to  imagine  that  it  suffices  to  make  a 
child  wise.  It  is  not  proposed  to  teach  him  the  sciences, 
but  to  give  him  a  taste  for  them,  and  methods  for  learning 
them,  when  this  taste  shall  be  better  developed.  Without 
doubt  this  is  the  fundamental  principle  of  all  good  edu- 
cation. 

This  is  also  the  time  for  accustoming  the  pupil,  little 
by  little,  to  give  consecutive  attention  to  the  same  sub- 
ject; but  it  is  never  constraint,  but  always  pleasure  or 
desire,  which  should  produce  this  attention.  Great  care 
should  be  taken  that  attention  does  not  become  a  burden 
to  him,  and  that  it  does  not  result  in  ennui.  Therefore 
keep  a  watchful  eye  over  him,  and,  whatever  may  happen, 


EMILE  FROM   TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  145 

abandon  everything  rather  than  have  his  tasks  become 
irksome ;  for  how  much  he  learns  is  of  no  account,  but 
only  that  he  does  nothing  against  his  will.* 

If  he  asks  you  questions,  reply  just  enough  to  stimu- 
late his  curiosity,  but  not  enough  to  satisfy  it.  Above 
all,  when  you  see  that,  instead  of  asking  questions  for 
instruction,  he  undertakes  to  beat  the  bush  and  to  annoy 
you  with  silly  questions,  stop  on  the  instant,  for  you  may 
then  be  sure  that  he  no  longer  cares  for  the  thing  itself, 
but  merely  to  subject  you  to  his  interrogations.  You 
must  have  less  regard  to  the  words  which  he  pronounces 
than  for  the  motive  which  prompts  him  to  speak.  This 
caution,  hitherto  less  necessary,  becomes  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance the  moment  the  child  begins  to  reason. 

There  is  a  chain  of  general  truths  by  which  all  the 
sciences  hold  to  common  principles  and  are  developed  in 
logical  succession.  This  chain  is  the  method  of  the  phi- 
losophers ;  but  in  this  place  we  are  not  at  all  concerned 
with  it.  There  is  a  totally  different  one,  by  means  of 
which  each  individual  object  brings  forward  another,  and 
always  points  out  the  one  which  follows  it.  This  order, 
which  through  a  continual  curiosity  stimulates  the  atten- 
tion required  of  us,  is  the  one  which  most  men  follow,  and 
is  especially  the  one  required  by  children. 

We  had  observed  for  a  long  time,  my  pupil  and  I, 
that  amber,  glass,  wax,  and  other  bodies,  when  rubbed, 
attracted  straws,  and  that  others  did  not  attract  them.  By 
chance  we  found  one  which  has  a  property  still  more 

*  In  the  actual  conduct  of  life  the  path  of  duty  often  crosses 
that  of  inclination,  and  ^raile  will  have  a  sorry  preparation  for 
living  if  he  does  not  learn  to  bend  his  neck  to  the  yoke  of  au- 
thority. This  is  a  fundamental  and  fatal  vice  in  Rousseau's  ethical 
system,  and  he  is  here  following  the  bias  of  his  own  disordered 


146 

singular — that  of  attracting  at  some  distance,  and  without 
being  rubbed,  filings  and  other  bits  of  iron.  How  many 
times  this  quality  amused  us  without  our  being  able  to 
see  anything  more  in  it !  At  last  we  discover  that  it  is 
communicated  even  to  iron  magnetized  by  a  certain 
process  One  day  we  went  to  the  fair,  where  we  saw  a 
juggler  attract  with  a  piece  of  bread  a  wax  duck  floating 
in  a  basin  of  water.*  We  were  greatly  surprised,  but  we 
did  not  say  that  the  man  was  a  sorcerer,  for  we  did  not 
know  what  a  sorcerer  was.  Continually  impressed  by 
effects  of  whose  cause  we  were  ignorant,  we  were  in  no 
hurry  to  come  to  any  conclusion,  and  we  quietly  reposed 
in  our  ignorance  until  we  found  occasion  to  escape  from  it. 
On  reaching  home  we  continued  to  talk  of  the  duck 
at  the  fair,  and  so  took  it  into  our  heads  to  imitate  it. 
"We  took  a  good  needle,  well  magnetized,  and  surrounded 
it  with  white  wax,  which  we  did  our  best  to  mold  into  the 
form  of  a  duck  in  such  a  way  that  the  needle  traversed 
the  body,  and  with  its  eye  formed  the  beak  of  the  bird 
We  placed  the  duck  on  the  water,  brought  a  key  near  the 
beak,  and  saw,  with  a  joy  easy  to  comprehend,  that  our 
duck  followed  the  key  precisely  as  the  one  at  the  fair  fol- 
lowed the  piece  of  bread.  At  another  time  we  might  have 
observed  in  what  direction  the  duck  turns  his  head  when 
left  on  the  water  in  a  state  of  repose ;  but  at  that  moment, 

*  I  can  not  resist  laughing  while  reading  a  spirited  criticism  of 
M.  de  Formey  on  this  little  story :  "  This  juggler,"  he  says,  "  who 
takes  pride  in  competing  with  a  child,  and  gravely  lectures  his 
instructor,  is  an  individual  living  in  a  world  of  Emiles."  The  witty 
M.  de  Formey  can  not  suppose  that  this  little  scene  was  prearranged, 
C,nd  that  the  juggler  had  been  instructed  in  the  part  he  was  to  play , 
for  this,  in  fact,  is  what  I  have  not  said.  But  how  many  times,  let 
me  remind  him,  have  I  declared  that  I  did  not  write  for  people  who 
needed  to  have  everything  told  to  them ! 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  147 

wholly  occupied  with  our  object,  we  had  no  further  pur- 
pose in  view. 

That  same  afternoon  we  returned  to  the  fair  with  pre- 
pared bread  in  our  pockets ;  and  as  soon  as  the  juggler 
had  performed  his  trick,  my  little  doctor,  who  could 
scarcely  contain  himself,  said  to  him  that  the  trick  was 
not  difficult,  and  that  he  could  do  it  just  as  well  him- 
self. He  was  taken  at  his  word.  He  at  once  took  from 
his  pocket  the  bread  in  which  a  piece  of  iron  was  con- 
cealed. With  beating  heart  he  approached  the  table, 
and  with  trembling  hand  presented  the  bread.  The 
duck  came  forward  and  followed,  the  child  shouting 
and  trembling  with  joy.  At  the  clapping  of  hands  and 
the  cheers  of  the  crowd,  his  head  was  turned  and  he  was 
beside  himself.  The  juggler,  though  confounded,  came 
forward  to  embrace  and  congratulate  him,  and  begged 
the  honor  of  his  presence  for  the  morrow,  adding  that  he 
would  do  his  best  to  bring  together  still  more  people  to 
applaud  his  cleverness.  My  little  philosopher,  puffed  up 
with  pride,  was  bent  on  prating ;  but  I  at  once  shut  his 
mouth  and  took  him  away,  loaded  with  praises. 

With  an  uneasiness  that  was  laughable  the  child 
counted  the  minutes  until  the  next  morning.  He  in- 
vited everybody  he  met,  and  would  have  the  whole  human 
race  witness  his  glory.  He  awaited  the  hour  with  im- 
patience, and  anticipated  it  by  rushing  off  to  the  place  of 
assembly,  which  he  found  already  crowded.  On  entering, 
his  young  heart  expanded.  Other  sports  were  to  precede ; 
the  juggler  surpassed  himself,  and  executed  surprising 
feats.  The  child  saw  nothing  of  all  this,  but  was  nervous, 
in  a  state  of  perspiration,  and  scarcely  breathed.  He  spent 
his  time  in  handling  with  impatience  the  piece  of  bread 
which  he  carried  in  his  pocket.  At  last  his  turn  came,  and 
he  was  formally  presented  to  the  public.  He  stepped  for- 
13 


ward,  somewhat  abashed,  and  took  the  bread  from  his 
pocket.  A  new  vicissitude  in  human  affairs  !  The  duck, 
yesterday  so  tame,  had  become  wild  to-day,  and  instead  of 
presenting  his  beak  he  turned  tail  and  sailed  away.  He 
refused  the  bread  and  the  hand  that  offered  it  with  as 
much  care  as  he  had  previously  followed  them.  After  a 
thousand  useless  attempts,  which  were  always  greeted  with 
hoots,  the  child  complained,  said  that  he  had  been  de- 
ceived, that  it  was  another  duck  which  had  been  substi- 
tuted for  the  first,  and  dared  the  juggler  to  attract  this 
one. 

The  juggler,  without  making  any  reply,  took  a  piece 
of  bread  and  presented  it  to  the  duck,  which  instantly 
followed  the  bread,  and  approached  the  hand  which  drew 
it  back.  The  child  took  the  same  piece  of  bread;  but 
far  from  succeeding  better  than  before,  he  saw  the  duck 
make  fun  of  him,  and  execute  pirouettes  all  around  the 
basin.  He  finally  withdrew,  covered  with  confusion,  and 
no  longer  dared  expose  himself  to  the  hoots  and  jeers. 

Then  the  juggler  took  the  piece  of  bread  which  the 
child  had  brought,  and  used  it  with  as  much  success  as 
he  did  his  own.  He  drew  out  the  piece  of  iron  in  the 
presence  of  the  audience,  and  there  was  another  laugh  at 
our  expense  ;  and  then  with  this  bread  alone  he  attracted 
the  duck  as  before.  He  did  the  same  thing  with  another 
piece  of  bread  cut  in  the  presence  of  the  audience  by  a 
third  hand.  He  did  the  same  with  his  glove,  and  with 
the  tip  of  his  finger.  Finally  he  withdrew  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  room,  and,  with  a  pompous  tone  peculiar  to 
these  people,  declaring  that  his  duck  would  obey  his  voice 
no  less  than  the  movement  of  his  hand,  he  spoke  to  it 
and  the  duck  obeyed.  He  told  it  to  go  to  the  right,  and 
it  went  to  the  right ;  to  come  back,  and  it  came  ;  to  turn, 
and  it  turned ;  the  movement  was  as  prompt  as  the  order. 


£MILE  PROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN*.  149 

The  redoubled  plaudits  were  so  many  affronts  for  us.  We 
slipped  out  without  being  observed,  and  shut  ourselves  up 
in  our  chamber,  without  going  to  relate  our  success  to 
everybody,  as  we  had  intended. 

The  next  morning  some  one  knocked  at  our  door.  I 
opened  it,  and  there  was  the  juggler.  He  modestly  com- 
plained of  our  conduct.  What  had  he  done  to  us  to  make 
us  willing  to  discredit  his  feats  and  to  take  away  from 
him  his  livelihood  ?  What  was  there  so  wonderful  in  the 
art  of  attracting  a  wax  duck  as  to  make  us  willing  to  buy 
this  honor  at  the  expense  of  the  subsistence  of  an  honest 
man  ?  "  On  my  honor,  gentlemen,  if  I  had  some  other 
talent  for  making  a  living  I  would  hardly  plume  myself 
on  this  one.  You  may  well  believe  that  a  man  who  has 
spent  his  life  in  working  at  this  sorry  trade  knows  much 
more  about  it  than  you  who  have  been  occupied  with  it 
for  only  a  few  minutes.  If  I  did  not  at  first  show  you 
masterpieces  of  my  art,  it  was  because  it  was  not  neces- 
sary to  be  in  haste  to  make  a  foolish  exhibition  of  what 
one  knows.  I  have  always  taken  care  to  save  my  best 
tricks  for  special  emergencies,  and  besides  what  I  showed 
you  I  have  still  others  to  arrest  the  attention  of  young 
inconsiderates.  Finally,  gentlemen,  I  have  cheerfully  come 
to  teach  you  the  secret  which  has  caused  you  so  much 
trouble,  praying  you  not  to  use  it  to  my  disadvantage,  and 
hereafter  to  be  more  discreet." 

Then  he  showed  his  machine,  and  we  saw  with  the 
utmost  surprise  that  it  consisted  merely  of  a  strong  mag- 
net, well  mounted,  which  a  child  concealed  under  the 
table  caused  to  move  without  being  detected. 

The  man  put  up  his  machine,  and,  after  having  ex- 
pressed our  thanks  and  our  excuses,  we  wished  to  make 
him  a  present,  but  he  refused  it.  "  No,  gentlemen,  you 
have  not  sufficiently  commended  yourselves  to  my  favor 


150  fiMILE. 

to  permit  me  to  accept  jour  gifts  ;  and  against  your  will 
I  leave  you  under  obligations  to  me.  This  is  my  only 
revenge.  Learn  that  there  is  generosity  in  men  of  all  con- 
ditions ;  I  receive  pay  for  my  tricks,  not  for  my  lessons." 

All  the  details  of  this  example  are  more  important 
than  they  seem.  How  many  lessons  in  this  single  one  ! 
How  many  mortifying  consequences  follow  the  first  move- 
ment of  vanity  !  Youthful  teacher,  carefully  watch  this 
first  movement.  If  you  can  thus  draw  from  it  humili- 
ation and  disgrace,  you  may  be  sure  that  it  will  be  a  long 
time  before  a  second  instance  will  occur.  What  prepa- 
rations !  you  will  say.  I  grant  it,  and  all  for  the  sake  of 
making  a  compass  to  serve  us  instead  of  a  noon-mark. 

Having  learned  that  the  magnet  acts  through  other 
bodies,  we  have  nothing  else  to  do  than  to  make  a  ma- 
chine similar  to  that  which  we  have  seen — a  hollow  table, 
a  very  shallow  basin  adjusted  to  this  table  and  filled 
with  a  few  inches  of  water,  a  duck  made  with  a  little 
more  care,  etc.  Often  directing  our  attention  to  the 
basin,  we  finally  observe  that  the  duck  in  repose  always 
affects  nearly  the  same  direction.  We  repeat  this  experi- 
ment, examine  this  direction,  and  find  that  it  is  from 
south  to  north.  Nothing  more  is  necessary.  Our  com- 
pass is  found,  or  something  equally  good,  and  we  are  now 
ready  for  physical  science. 

On  the  earth  there  are  different  climates,  these  climates 
have  different  temperatures.  The  seasons  vary  more  sen- 
sibly as  we  approach  the  pole ;  all  bodies  are  contracted  by 
cold  and  are  expanded  by  heat ;  this  effect  is  more  meas- 
urable in  liquids,  and  more  sensible  in  spirituous  liquors. 
Hence  the  thermometer.  The  wind  strikes  the  face ;  the 
air  is  then  a  body,  a  fluid ;  we  feel  it,  although  we  have 
no  means  of  seeing  it.  Invert  a  glass  in  water,  and  the 
water  will  not  fill  it  unless  you  leave  a  place  for  the  air  to 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  151 

escape ;  the  air  is  then  capable  of  resistance.  Press  the 
glass  farther  down  and  the  water  will  gain  on  the  air  but 
can  not  wholly  replace  it ;  the  air  is  then  capable  of  com- 
pression up  to  a  certain  limit.  A  ball  filled  with  com- 
pressed air  has  greater  elasticity  than  if  filled  with  any 
other  matter;  the  air  is  then  an  elastic  body.  While 
lying  in  your  bath,  lift  your  arm  horizontally  from  the 
water,  and  you  will  feel  it  loaded  with  a  terrible  weight ; 
the  air  is  then  a  heavy  body.  By  putting  the  air  in 
equilibrium  with  other  fluids  we  can  measure  its  weight. 
Hence  the  barometer,  the  siphon,  the  air-gun,  and  the 
pneumatic  engine.  All  the  laws  of  statics  and  hydro- 
statics are  discovered  by  experiments  which  are  just  as 
rude.  I  would  not  have  one  enter  a  laboratory  of  experi- 
mental physics  for  anything  of  this  kind.  All  this  parade 
of  instruments  and  machines  displeases  me..  The  scien- 
tific atmosphere  kills  science.  All  these  machines  either 
frighten  the  child,  or  their  appearance  divides  and  absorbs 
the  attention  which  he  owes  to  their  effects. 

I  wish  we  might  make  all  our  own  apparatus ;  and  I 
would  not  begin  by 'making  the  instrument  before  the  ex- 
periment ;  but,  after  having  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  ex- 
periment, as  by  hazard,  I  would  invent,  little  by  little,  the 
instrument  which  is  to  verify  it.  I  prefer  that  our  instru- 
ments should  be  less  perfect  and  accurate,  and  that  we 
should  have  more  exact  ideas  of  what  they  ought  to  be, 
and  of  the  operations  which  ought  to  result  from  them. 
For  my  first  lesson  in  statics,  instead  of  hunting  for  bal- 
ances, I  put  a  stick  crosswise  on  the  back  of  a  chair 
and  measure  the  length  of  the  two  parts  of  the  stick  in 
equilibrium,  and  I  add  weights  to  both  sides,  sometimes 
equal  and  sometimes  unequal,  and  drawing  back  or  ex- 
tending the  stick  as  it  may  be  necessary,  I  finally  dis- 
cover that  equilibrium  results  from  a  reciprocal  propo'r- 


i  52  EMILE. 

tion  between  the  amount  of  the  weights  and  the  length 
of  the  levers.  Here  is  my  little  physicist  already  capable 
of  rectifying  balances  before  having  seen  any. 

Without  doubt  we  derive  much  clearer  and  much 
more  accurate  notions  of  things  which  we  learn  for 
ourselves  than  of  those  which  we  gain  from  the  instruc- 
tion of  others;  and  besides,  not  accustoming  our  reason 
to  submit  slavishly  to  authority,  we  become  more  ingen- 
ious in  discovering  relations  and  in  associating  ideas,  than 
when,  accepting  all  this  just  as  it  is  given  us,  we  allow 
our  mind  to  become  weighed  down  with  indifference,  just 
as  the  body  of  a  man  who  is  always  dressed  and  attended 
by  his  servants  and  carried  about  by  his  horses  finally 
loses  the  strength  and  use  of  his  limbs.  Boileau  boasted 
of  having  taught  Racine  to  rhyme  with  much  difficulty. 
Among  so  many  admirable  methods  for  abridging  the 
study  of  the  sciences,  it  is  very  necessary  that  some  one 
give  us  a  method  for  learning  them  with  effort. 

The  most  obvious  advantage  of  these  slow  and  labori- 
ous investigations  is  to  maintain,  in  the  midst  of  specu- 
lative studies,  the  body  in  activity,  the  limbs  in  their 
flexibility,  and  the  ceaseless  training  of  the  hands  to 
labor  and  to  employments  useful  to  man.  So  many 
instruments  invented  to  guide  us  in  our  experiments  and 
to  supply  the  place  of  accurate  sense-perception  cause  us 
to  neglect  the  exercise  of  it.  The  graphometer  relieves  us 
from  estimating  the  size  of  angles ;  the  eye  which  meas- 
ured distances  with  precision  relies  on  the  chain  which 
measures  them  for  it.  The  steelyard  relieves  me  from 
estimating  by  the  hand  the  weight  which  I  was  accus- 
tomed to  ascertain  by  it.  The  more  ingenious  our  instru- 
ments are,  the  blunter  and  more  clumsy  our  organs  be- 
come By  collecting  machines  about  us  we  no  longer 
find  them  within  ourselves. 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  153 

But  when  we  bestow  on  the  manufacturer  of  these 
machines  the  skill  which  supplied  their  place,  when  we 
employ  in  making  them  the  sagacity  which  was  needed 
for  doing  without  them,  we  gain  without  losing  anything 
— we  add  art  to  nature,  and  we  become  more  ingenious 
without  becoming  less  dextrous.  Instead  of  making  a 
child  stick  to  his  books,  if  I  employ  him  in  a  workshop, 
his  hands  labor  to  the  profit  of  his  mind ;  he  becomes  a 
philosopher,  but  fancies  he  is  only  a  workman.  Finally, 
this  exercise  has  other  uses,  of  which  I  shall  speak  here- 
after ;  and  we  shall  see  how  from  the  recreations  of 
philosophy  we  may  rise  to  the  real  functions  of  a  man. 

I  have  already  said  that  purely  speculative  knowledge 
is  hardly  adapted  to  children,  even  when  they  have  ap- 
proached adolescence ;  but,  without  carrying  them  very 
far  into  systematic  physics,  proceed  in  such  a  way  that  all 
their  experiments  may  be  connected  through  some  sort 
of  deduction,  so  that  by  the  aid  of  this  chain  they  may 
place  them  in  order  in  their  mind,  and  recall  them  when 
occasion  requires ;  for  it  is  very  difficult  to  hold  isolated 
facts,  or  even  trains  of  reasoning,  for  a  very  long  time  in 
the  memory  when  we  have  no  hold  by  which  to  recall 
them. 

In  your  search  for  the  laws  of  Nature,  always  begin 
with  the  most  common  and  the  most  obvious  phenomena, 
and  accustom  your  pupil  not  to  take  these  phenomena 
for  reasons,  but  for  facts.  I  take  a  stone  and  pretend  to 
set  it  in  the  air ;  I  open  my  hand,  and  the  stone  falls.  I 
look  at  Emile,  who  is  attentive  to  what  I  am  doing,  and 
say  to  him,  Why  did  that  stone  fall  ?  What  child  would 
stop  short  at  this  question?  No  one,  not  even  Emile, 
unless  I  had  taken  great  pains  to  prepare  him  for  not 
knowing  how  to  reply  to  it.  All  will  say  that  the  stone 
falls  because  it  is  heavy.  And  what  is  it  to  be  heavy? 


154  EMILE. 

It  is  that  which  makes  a  body  fall.  Then  the  stone  falls 
because  it  falls !  Here  my  little  philosopher  stopped  in 
earnest.  This  is  his  first  lesson  in  systematic  physics,  and 
whether  or  not  it  may  be  profitable  in  this  way,  it  will 
always  be  a  lesson  in  good  sense. 

In  proportion  as  the  child  advances  in  intelligence, 
other  important  considerations  oblige  us  to  be  more  care- 
ful in  the  choice  of  his  occupations.  As  soon  as  he  comes 
to  have  sufficient  knowledge  of  himself  to  conceive  in 
what  his  welfare  consists,  as  soon  as  he  can  grasp  rela- 
tions sufficiently  extended  to  judge  of  what  is  best  and 
what  is  not  best  for  him,  from  that  moment  he  is  in  a 
condition  to  feel  the  difference  between  work  and  play, 
and  to  regard  the  second  merely  as  a  respite  from  the 
first.  Then  objects  of  real  utility  may  enter  into  his 
studies,  and  may  invite  him  to  give  to  them  a  more  con- 
stant application  than  he  gave  to  simple  amusements. 
The  law  of  necessity,  always  reappearing,  teaches  man 
from  an  early  hour  to  do  what  does  not  please  him,  in 
order  to  prevent  an  evil  which  would  be  more  displeasing. 
Such  is  the  use  of  foresight ;  and  from  this  foresight,  well 
or  badly  regulated,  springs  all  human  wisdom  or  all  hu- 
man misery. 

When,  before  feeling  their  needs,  children  foresee 
them,  their  intelligence  is  already  far  advanced,  and  they 
begin  to  know  the  value  of  time.  It  is  then  important 
to  accustom  them  to  direct  its  employment  to  useful  ob- 
jects, but  of  a  utility  sensible  at  their  age  and  within  the 
scope  of  their  understanding.  Whatever  relates  to  the 
moral  order  and  to  the  usages  of  society  ought  not  to  be 
presented  to  them  so  soon,  because  they  are  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  understand  it.  It  is  absurd  to  require  them  to 
apply  themselves  to  things  which  are  vaguely  declared  to 
be  for  their  good,  without  their  knowing  what  this  good 


FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  155 

is  of  which  they  are  assured  they  will  derive  profit  when 
grown,  and  without  their  taking  any  present  interest  in 
this  assumed  advantage  which  they  can  not  comprehend. 

Let  the  child  do  nothing  on  trust.  Nothing  is  good 
for  him  which  he  does  not  feel  to  be  such.  In  always 
keeping  him  in  advance  of  his  intelligence  you  think 
you  are  exercising  foresight,  but  you  are  lacking  in  it. 
In  order  to  furnish  him  with  some  vain  instruments  of 
which  he  will  perhaps  never  make  use,  you  take  from 
him  the  most  universal  instrument  of  man,  which  is  good 
sense ;  you  accustom  him  to  allow  himself  always  to  be 
led,  and  never  to  be  anything  but  a  machine  in  the  hands 
of  others.  You  wish  him  to  be  docile  while  young ;  but 
this  is  to  wish  him  to  be  credulous  and  a  dupe  when 
grown.  You  are  always  saying  to  him :  "  All  I  require 
of  you  is  for  your  advantage ;  but  you  are  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  know  it.  Of  what  advantage  is  it  to  me  whether 
or  not  you  do  what  I  require  ?  It  is  for  yourself  alone 
that  you  are  working."  With  all  these  fine  speeches 
which  you  now  address  to  him  in  order  to  make  him 
wise,  you  are  preparing  for  the  success  of  those  which  a 
visionary,  a  pretender,  a  charlatan,  a  rogue,  or  fools  of 
every  sort,  will  one  day  address  to  him  in  order  to  catch 
him  in  their  net,  or  to  make  him  adopt  their  folly. 

A  man  should  know  many  things  whose  utility  a 
child  could  not  comprehend ;  but  must  and  can  a  child 
learn  all  that  it  is  important  for  a  man  to  know  ?  Try  to 
teach  a  child  all  that  is  useful  for  one  of  his  age,  and  you 
will  discover  that  his  time  Avill  be  more  than  filled.  Why 
will  you,  to  the  prejudice  of  studies  which  are  adapted  to 
nim  to-day,  apply  him  to  those  of  an  age  which  he  is  so 
little  certain  to  reach  ?  But  you  will  say :  "  Will  there 
be  time  to  learn  what  one  ought  to  know  when  the  mo- 
ment shall  have  come  to  make  use  of  it  ?  "  I  can  not 


156  EMILE. 

say ;  but  what  I  do  know  is  that  it  is  impossible  to  learn 
it  sooner,  for  our  real  masters  are  experience  and  feel- 
ing, and  a  man  never  really  feels  what  is  befitting  a  man 
save  in  the  relations  where  he  has  found  himself.  A 
child  knows  that  he  is  destined  to  become  a  man,  and  all 
the  ideas  which  he  can  have  of  man's  estate  are  occasions 
of  instruction  to  him ; .  but  of  the  ideas  of  that  state 
which  are  not  within  his  comprehension,  he  ought  to 
remain  in  absolute  ignorance.  My  whole  book  is  but  a 
continual  proof  of  this  principle  of  education. 

As  soon  as  we  have  succeeded  in  giving  our  pupil  an 
idea  of  the  word  useful,  we  have  another  strong  hold  for 
governing  him  ;  for  this  word  makes  a  strong  impression 
on  him,  provided  he  has  only  an  idea  of  it  in  proportion 
to  his  age,  and  clearly  sees  how  it  is  related  to  his  actual 
welfare.  Your  children  have  not  been  impressed  by  this 
word  because  you  have  not  taken  care  to  give  them  an 
idea  of  it  which  is  within  their  comprehension ;  and  be- 
cause, as  others  always  take  it  upon  themselves  to  pro- 
vide what  is  useful  for  them,  they  never  have  occasion 
to  think  of  it  themselves,  and  do  not  know  what  util- 
ity is. 

What  is  this  good  for  9  Henceforth  this  is  the  conse- 
crated word,  the  decisive  word  between  him  and  me  in  all 
the  transactions  of  our  life.  This  is  the  question  which 
on  my  part  invariably  follows  all  his  questions,  and  which 
serves  as  a  check  on  those  multitudes  of  foolish  and  tire- 
some questions  with  which  children  weary  all  those  who 
are  about  them,  without  respite  and  without  profit,  more 
to  exercise  over  them  some  sort  of  domination  than  to 
derive  any  advantage  from  them.  When  one  has  been 
taught,  as  his  most  important  lesson,  to  desire  nothing 
in  the  way  of  knowledge  save  what  is  useful,  he  asks  ques- 
tions like  Socrates ;  he  does  not  ask  a  question  without 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  157 

framing  for  himself  its  answer,  which  he  knows  will  be 
demanded  of  him  before  resolving  it. 

As  it  is  of  little  importance  that  your  pupil  learn  this 
or  that,  provided  he  has  a  clear  conception  of  what  he 
learns  and  of  its  use,  the  moment  you  can  not  give  him 
an  explanation  of  what  you  have  told  him  is  good  for  him, 
give  him  no  explanation  at  all.  Say  to  him  without  scru- 
ple :  I  have  no  good  reply  to  make  to  you ;  I  was  wrong ; 
let  it  all  go.  If  your  instruction  was  wholly  out  of  place, 
there  is  no  harm  in  abandoning  it  wholly ;  if  it  was  not, 
with  a  little  care  you  will  soon  find  occasion  to  make  him 
conscious  of  its  utility. 

I  do  not  like  discursive  explanations ;  young  people 
pay  little  attention  to  them,  and  hardly  ever  retain  them. 
Things  !  things !  I  shall  never  repeat  often  enough  that 
we  give  too  much  power  to  words.  With  our  babbling 
education  we  make  nothing  but  babblers. 

Suppose  that  while  I  am  studying  with  my  pupil  the 
course  of  the  sun  and  the  manner  of  finding  the  points 
of  the  compass,  he  suddenly  interrupts  me,  by  asking 
what  all  this  is  good  for.  What  a  fine  discourse  I  might 
hold  with  him  !  On  how  many  things  I  might  take  occa- 
sion to  instruct  him  while  replying  to  his  questions,  espe- 
cially if  Ave  had  witnesses  of  our  conversation  !  *  I  might 
speak  to  him  of  the  utility  of  travel,  of  the  advantages  of 
commerce,  of  the  productions  peculiar  to  each  climate, 
of  the  manners  of  different  peoples,  of  the  use  of  the  cal- 
endar, of  the  computation  of  the  return  of  seasons  for  agri- 
culture, of  the  art  of  navigation,  of  the  manner  of  making 

*  I  have  often  observed  that  in  the  learned  instructions  which 
we  give  to  children  we  think  less  of  making  ourselves  heard  by 
them  than  by  the  grand  personages  who  are  present.  1  am  very 
certain  of  what  I  have  now  said,'  for  1  have  observed  this  very  thing 
of  myself. 


158  EMILE. 

one's  way  on  the  sea,  and  of  following  our  route  with  ex- 
actness without  knowing  where  we  are.  Politics,  natural 
history,  astronomy,  even  ethics  and  the  law  of  nations 
might  enter  into  my  explanation  in  such  a  way  as  to  give 
my  pupil  a  grand  idea  of  all  these  sciences  and  a  great 
desire  to  learn  them.  When  I  had  said  all,  I  would  have 
made  the  display  of  a  real  pedant,  and  my  pupil  would 
not  have  gained  a  single  idea.  He  would  have  a  great 
desire  to  ask  me,  as  before,  what  purpose  it  serves  to  find 
the  points  of  the  compass,  but  he  dares  not  for  fear  of 
offending  me.  He  finds  it  more  to  his  advantage  to  feign 
to  understand  what  he  has  been  forced  to  hear.  It  is  in 
this  way  that  children  get  what  is  called  a  polished  edu- 
cation. 

But  our  Emile,  educated  in  a  more  rustic  manner,  to 
whom  we  have  given,  with  so  much  trouble,  a  dull  under- 
standing, will  listen  to  nothing  of  all  this.  From  the 
first  word  which  he  does  not  understand  he  runs  away, 
goes  frolicking  through  the  room,  and  leaves  me  to  hold 
forth  all  alone.  Let  us  look  for  a  more  homely  solution  ; 
my  scientific  apparatus  is  worth  nothing  to  him. 

We  were  observing  the  position  of  the  forest  at  the 
north  of  Montmorency  when  he  interrupted  me  by  his 
importunate  question,  Of  what  use  is  that?  You  are 
right,  I  say  to  him ;  we  must  think  of  that  at  our  leisure ; 
and  if  we  find  that  this  work  is  good  for  nothing,  we  will 
not  resume  it,  for  we  have  no  lack  of  useful  amusements. 
We  occupy  ourselves  with  something  else,  and  the  ques- 
tion of  geography  is  not  raised  for  the  rest  of  the  day. 

On  the  following  morning  I  propose  to  him  a  walk 
before  breakfast ;  he  asks  nothing  better.    Children  are  al- 
ways ready  for  a  ramble,  and  this  one  has  good  legs.     We . 
enter  the  forest,  we  stroll  through  the  meadows,  we  be- 
come lost,  we  no  longer  know  where  we  are  ;  and  when 


EMILE  FROM   TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  159 

we  attempt  to  return  we  are  no  longer  able  to  find  our 
way  back.  Time  passes,  the  heat  increases,  and  we  are 
hungry;  we  hurry  on,  we  wander  about  to  no  purpose 
from  place  to  place,  and  everywhere  we  find  but  woods, 
walks,  plains,  but  no  information  for  finding  our  way. 
Very  warm,  very  weary,  very  hungry,  the  only  purpose 
served  by  our  wanderings  is  to  lead  us  farther  astray. 
We  finally  seat  ourselves  in  order  to  rest  and  deliberate. 
Emiie,  whom  I  suppose  to  be  educated  as  other  children 
are,  does  not  deliberate ;  he  weeps.  He  does  not  know 
that  we  are  at  the  gate  of  Montmorency,  and  that  a  simple 
hedge  conceals  it  from  us ;  but  this  hedge  is  a  forest  for 
him ;  a  man  of  his  stature  is  buried  in  bushes. 

After  a  few  moments'  silence,  I  say  to  him  with  a  dis- 
turbed air :  "  My  dear  Emile,  how  shall  we  proceed  to  get 
out  of  this  place  ?  " 

EMILE  (dripping  with  sweat  and  weeping  bitterly). 
"  I  know  nothing  about  it.  I  am  tired,  hungry,  and 
thirsty ;  I  can  do  nothing  more." 

JEAX  JACQUES.  "  Do  you  fancy  I  am  in  a  better  con- 
dition than  you  are,  and  do  you  think  that  I  should  fail 
to  weep  if  I  could  dine  on  my  tears  ?  It  is  not  a  question 
of  weeping,  but  of  finding  our  way.  Let  us  see  your 
watch  ;  what  time  is  it  ?  " 

E.  "  It  is  noon,  and  I  have  not  had  my  break- 
fast." 

J.  J.  "  That  is  true ;  it  is  noon,  and  I,  too,  have  had 
nothing  to  eat." 

E.  "  Oh,  then  you  too  must  be  hungry ! " 

J.  J.  "  The  misfortune  is  that  my  dinner  will  not  come 
to  find  me  here.  It  is  noon,  and  it  is  exactly  the  hour 
when  we  were  observing  yesterday  from  Montmorency 
the  position  of  the  forest.  If  we  could  also  observe  from 
the  forest  the  position  of  Montmorency?  ..." 


160  EMILE. 

E\  "Oh,  yes;  but  yesterday  we  saw  the  forest,  and 
from  this  place  we  do  not  see  the  city." 

J.  J.  "  This  is  the  difficulty.  ...  If  we  could  do  with- 
out seeing  it  and  still  find  its  position  ?  .  .  .  " 

E.  "  0  my  good  friend  ! " 

J.  J.  "  Did  we  not  say  that  the  forest  was?  ..." 

E.  "  At  the  north  of  Montmorency." 

J.  J.  "  Consequently,  Montmorency  should  be  ..." 

E.  "  At  the  south  of  the  forest." 

J.  J.  "  We  have  a  means  of  finding  the  north  at 
noon." 

E.  "  Yes,  by  the  direction  of  a  shadow." 

J.  J.  "  But  the  south  ?  " 

E.  "  How  shall  we  find  it?" 

J.  J.  "  The  south  is  opposite  the  north." 

E.  "  That  is  true ;  we  have  only  to  look  opposite  the 
shadow.  Oh !  there  is  the  south !  There  is  the  south ! 
surely  Montmorency  is  in  that  direction ;  let  us  look  for 
it  there." 

J.  J.  "  Perhaps  you  are  right ;  let  us  take  this  path 
through  the  woods." 

E.  (clapping  his  hands  and  shouting  for  joy}.  Ah!  I 
see  Montmorency  !  There  it  is  before  us,  in  plain  sight. 
Let  us  go  to  breakfast,  let  us  go  to  dinner,  let  us  make 
haste.  Astronomy  is  good  for  something." 

Be  assured  that  if  he  does  not  say  these  last  words, 
he  will  think  them ;  it  is  of  little  importance,  provided  it 
is  not  I  who  speak  them.  Now,  you  may  be  sure  that  as 
long  as  he  lives  he  will  not  forget  the  lesson  of  that  day ; 
whereas,  if  I  had  done  no  more  than  invent  all  this  for 
him  in  his  chamber,  my  discourse  would  have  been  for- 
gotten by  the  following  day.  So  far  as  possible,  we  must 
speak  by  actions,  and  tell  only  what  can  not  be  done. 

The  relations  of  effects  to  causes  whose  connection  we 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEX.  1G1 

do  not  see,  the  good  and  the  evil  of  which  we  have  no 
jdea,  the  needs  which  we  have  never  felt,  are  as  nothing  to 
us  ;  it  is  impossible  to  interest  us  through  them  in  doing 
anything  connected  with  them.  At  the  age  of  fifteen  we 
see  the  happiness  of  a  wise  man,  just  as  at  thirty  we  see 
the  glory  of  paradise.  If  we  have  no  clear  conception  of 
either  we  shall  do  but  little  to  acquire  it ;  and  even  when 
we  form  a  conception  of  it,  we  shall  still  do  but  little  if 
we  do  not  desire  it,  if  we  do  not  think  it  good  for  us.  It 
is  in  vain  that  dispassionate  reason  makes  us  approve  or 
blame ;  it  is  only  passion  that  can  make  us  act ;  and  how 
can  we  become  impassioned  for  interests  which  we  have 
not  yet  had  ? 

Never  direct  the  child's  attention  to  anything  which  he 
can  not  see.  While  humanity  is  almost  unknown  to  him, 
as  you  are  not  able  to  raise  him  to  the  state  of  man,  lower 
man  for  him  to  the  state  of  childhood.  While  thinking 
of  what  would  be  useful  to  him  at  another  age,  speak  to 
him  only  of  that  whose  utility  he  sees  at  present.  More- 
over, let  there  never  be  comparisons  with  other  children ; 
as  soon  as  he  begins  to  reason  let  him  have  no  rivals,  no 
competitors,  even  in  running.  I  would  a  hundred  times 
rather  he  would  not  learn  what  he  can  learn  only  through 
jealousy  or  through  vanity.  But  every  year  I  will  mark 
the  progress  he  has  made ;  I  will  compare  it  with  that 
which  he  makes  the  following  year.  I  will  say  to  him  : 
"  You  have  grown  so  many  inches ;  there  is  the  ditch 
which  you  jumped  and  the  load  which  you  carried  ;  here 
is  the  distance  you  threw  a  stone  and  the  course  you  ran 
at  one  breath.  Let  us  see  what  you  can  do  now."  In  this 
way  I  excite  him  without  making  him  jealous  of  any  one. 
I  would  have  him  surpass  himself,  and  he  ought  to  do  it. 
I  see  no  harm  in  his  being  his  own  rival. 

I  hate  books ;  they  merely  teach  us  to  talk  of  what 


162 

we  do  not  know.*  It  is  said  that  Hermes  engraved  on 
columns  the  elements  of  the  sciences  in  order  to  protect 
his  discoveries  from  the  deluge.  If  he  had  thoroughly 
imprinted  them  in  the  heads  of  men  they  would  have 
been  preserved  there  through  tradition.  Well-prepared 
brains  are  the  monuments  on  which  human  knowledges 
are  most  permanently  engraved. 

Might  there  not  be  a  means  of  bringing  together  so 
many  lessons  scattered  through  so  many  books,  and  of 
reuniting  them  under  a  common  object  which  may  be 
easy  to  see,  interesting  to  follow,  and  which  may  serve  as 
a  stimulus,  even  to  children  of  this  age  ?  If  we  can  in- 
vent a  situation  where  all  the  natural  needs  of  man  are 
exhibited  in  a  manner  obvious  to  the  mind  of  a  child, 
and  where  the  means  of  providing  for  these  same  needs 
are  successively  developed  with  the  same  facility,  it  is  by 
the  living  and  artless  portraiture  of  this  state  that  the 
first  exercise  must  be  given  to  his  imagination. 

Zealous  philosopher,  I  see  that  your  imagination  is 
already  excited.  Do  not  disturb  yourself ;  this  situation 
has  been  found,  has  been  described,  and,  by  your  leave, 
much  better  than  you  can  describe  it  yourself — at  least, 
with  more  truth  and  simplicity.  Since  we  must  neces- 
sarily have  books,  there  exists  one  which,  to  my  way  of 
thinking,  furnishes  the  happiest  treatise  on  natural  edu- 
cation. This  book  shall  be  the  first  which  my  Emile  will 
read  ;  for  a  long  time  it  will  of  itself  constitute  his  whole 

*  This  is  doubtless  a  rhetorical  style  of  saying  that  knowledge  at 
first  hand  is  preferable  to  knowledge  that  comes  to  us  through  the 
interpretation  of  language.  Pestalozzi  and  even  Plato  affected  a 
contempt  for  books :  yet  they  were  prolific  authors,  and  owe  their 
immortality  to  their  writings.  There  are  modern  instances  of  this 
self-inflicted  and  unconscious  satire  of  writing  books  to  prove  that 
books  are  useless ! — (P.) 


FROM  TWELVE   TO  F1FTEEX.  163 

/ibrary,  and  always  hold  a  distinguished  place  in  it.  It 
shall  be  the  text  on  which  all  our  conversations  on  the 
natural  sciences  will  serve  merely  as  a  commentary.  Dur- 
ing our  progress  it  will  serve  as  a  test  for  the  state  of  our 
judgment ;  and,  as  long  as  our  taste  is  not  corrupted,  the 
reading  of  it  will  always  please  us.  What,  then,  is  this 
wonderful  book?  Is  it  Aristotle?  Is  it  Pliny?  Is  it 
Buffon  ?  No ;  it  is  Kobinson  Crusoe.  * 

Robinson  Crusoe  on  his  island,  alone,  deprived  of  the 
assistance  of  his  fellows  and  of  the  instruments  of  all  the 
arts,  yet  providing  for  his  own  subsistence  and  preserva- 
tion, and  procuring  for  himself  a  state  of  comparative 
comfort — here  is  an  object  interesting  for  every  age, 
and  one  which  may  be  made  agreeable  to  children  in 
a  thousand  ways.  This  is  how  we  realize  the  desert 
island  which  first  served  me  as  a  means  of  compari- 
son. This,  I  grant,  is  not  the  condition  of  man  as  a 
social  being,  and  probably  is  not  to  be  that  of  Emile  ;  but 
it  is  with  reference  to  this  state  that  we  are  to  appreciate 
all  the  others.  The  surest  means  of  rising  above  preju- 
dices, and  of  ordering  our  judgments  in  accordance  with 
the  true  relations  of  things,  is  to  put  ourselves  in  the 
place  of  an  isolated  man,  and  to  judge  of  everything  as 
this  man  must  judge  of  it,  having  regard  to  its  proper 
utility.  This  romance,  divested  of  all  its  rubbish,  be- 
ginning with  the  shipwreck  of  Eobinson  near  his  island, 
and  ending  with  the  arrival  of  the  vessel  which  comes  to 
take  him  away  from  it.  will  be  at  once  the  amusement 
and  the  instruction  of  Emile  during  the  period  now  under 

*  Rousseau  owed  many  of  his  ideas  to  the  greater  writers  of 
ancient  and  modern  times ;  but  the  source  of  his  inspiration  was 
Robinson  Crusoe.  This  narrative  accorded  exactly  with  Rousseau's 
temperament,  and  afforded  him  an  ideal  gratification  of  his  in- 
stincts.—(P.) 
14 


discussion.  I ,  would  have  his  head  turned  by  it,  and 
having  him  constantly  occupied  with  his  castle,  his  goats, 
and  his  plantations,  I  would  have  him  learn  in  detail,  not 
in  books  but  from  things,  all  that  he  would  need  to  know 
in  a  similar  situation ;  I  would  have  him  think  he  is 
Robinson  himself ;  and  have  him  see  himself  dressed  in 
skins,  wearing  a  broad  hat,  a  large  saber,  and  all  the  gro- 
tesque equipage  of  the  character,  even  to  the  umbrella 
which  he  will  never  need.  I  would  have  him,  when 
anxious  about  the  measures  to  be  adopted,  in  case  he 
is  in  want  of  this  or  that,  examine  the  conduct  of  his 
hero,  and  inquire  if  nothing  has  been  omitted,  and 
whether  something  better  might  not  have  been  done; 
I  would  have  him  attentively  note  his  faults,  and  profit 
by  them,  so  as  not  to  fall  into  them  himself  under  similar 
circumstances;  for  do  not  doubt  that  he  is  forming  a 
scheme  to  go  and  set  up  a  similar  establishment.  This 
is  the  real  castle-building  of  that  happy  age  when  we 
know  no  other  happiness  than  necessity  and  liberty. 

What  a  resource  this  play  is  for  a  man  of  ability  who 
calls  it  into  being  only  to  the  end  that  he  may  turn  it  to 
profitable  account !  The  child,  in  haste  to  make  a  store- 
house for  his  island,  will  be  more  zealous  to  learn  than 
his  master  to  teach.  He  will  wish  to  know  everything 
that  is  useful,  and  to  know  only  that ;  you  will  no  longer 
need  to  guide  him,  but  only  to  hold  him  back.  Therefore 
let  us  make  haste  to  establish  him  in  his  island  while  he 
finds  all  his  happiness  in  it ;  for  the  day  will  come  when, 
if  he  still  wishes  to  live  there,  he  would  no  longer  live 
there  alone,  and  when  Friday,  who  now  scarcely  interests 
him,  will  not  long  suffice  him. 

The  practice  of  the  natural  arts,  for  which  a  single 
man  may  suffice,  leads  to  the  cultivation  of  the  industrial 
arts,  which  need  the  co-operation  of  several  hands.  The 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  165 

first  may  be  practiced  by  recluses  and  savages ;  but  the 
others  can  be  developed  only  in  society  which  they  render 
necessary.  As  long  as  we  know  only  physical  needs, 
each  man  suffices  for  himself;  but  the  introduction  of 
the  superfluous  makes  indispensable  the  division  and  dis- 
tribution of  labor ;  for,  while  a  man  working  alone  gains 
merely  the  subsistence  of  one  man,  a  hundred  men  work- 
ing in  concert  will  gain  enough  for  the  subsistence  of 
two  hundred.  As  soon,  then,  as  a  part  of  mankind  seek 
repose,  the  united  arms  of  those  who  labor  are  needed  to 
supplement  the  idleness  of  those  who  are  doing  nothing. 

Your  greatest  anxiety  ought  to  be  to  divert  the  mind 
of  your  pupil  from  all  the  notions  of  social  relations 
which  are  not  within  his  comprehension ;  but  when  the 
relationships  of  knowledge  compel  you  to  show  him  the 
mutual  dependence  of  men,  instead  of  showing  it  to  him 
on  its  moral  side,  first  turn  his  attention  to  industry  and 
the  mechanic  arts  which  make  men  useful  to  one  another. 
In  conducting  him  from  shop  to  shop  never  suffer  him 
to  see  any  labor  without  putting  his  own  hand  to  the 
work,  nor  to  go  away  without  perfectly  knowing  the  rea- 
son of  all  that  is  done  there,  or  at  least  of  all  that  he  has 
observed.  For  this  purpose,  labor  yourself,  and  be  an 
example  to  him  in  all  things.  In  order  to  make  him  a 
master,  be  everywhere  an  apprentice ;  and  count  that  an 
hour's  labor  will  teach  him  more  things  than  he  will  re- 
tain from  a  day  of  explanations. 

"  My  son  is  made  to  live  in  the  world ;  he  will  not 
live  with  sages,  but  with  fools ;  he  must  therefore  know 
their  follies,  since  it  is  through  them  that  they  wish  to  be 
governed.  The  real  knowledge  of  things  may  be  good, 
but-  that  of  men  and  their  judgments  is  worth  still  more ; 
for  in  human  society  the  greatest  instrument  of  man  is 
man,  and  the  wisest  is  he  who  uses  this  instrument  the 


best.  Why  give  children  the  idea  of  an  imaginary  order 
of  things  wholly  contrary  to  that  which  they  will  find 
established,  and  according  to  which  they  must  regulate 
their  conduct?  First  give  them  lessons  to  make  them 
wise,  and  then  you  will  give  them  the  means  of  judging 
in  what  respect  others  are  fools." 

These  are  the  specious  maxims  by  which  the  false 
prudence  of  parents  strives  to  render  their  children  the 
slaves  of  prejudice  on  which  they  have  been  nourished, 
and  themselves  the  puppets  of  the  senseless  crowd  whom 
they  think  to  make  the  instruments  of  their  passions.  In 
order  to  attain  to  a  knowledge  of  man,  how  many  things 
must  be  previously  learned !  Man  is  the  final  study  of 
the  sage,  and  you  presume  to  make  of  him  the  first  study 
of  a  child !  Before  instructing  him  in  our  feelings, 
begin  by  teaching  him  to  appreciate  them.  Is  it  knowing 
folly  to  take  it  for  reason  ?  In  order  to  be  wise  we  must 
discern  what  is  not  wise.  How  will  your  child  know 
men  if  he  can  neither  judge  of  their  judgments  nor  detect 
their  errors  ?  It  is  a  misfortune  to  know  what  they  think 
when  we  do  not  know  whether  what  they  think  is  true  or 
false.  First  teach  him,  then,  what  things  are  in  them- 
selves, and  you  will  afterward  teach  him  what  they  are  as 
you  see  them.  It  is  in  this  way  that  he  will  learn  to  com- 
pare opinion  with  truth,  and  to  rise  above  the  common 
herd ;  for  we  do  not  recognize  prejudices  when  we  adopt 
them,  and  we  do  not  lead  the  people  when  we  resemble 
them.  But  if  you  begin  by  instructing  your  child  in' 
public  opinion  before  teaching  him  to  estimate  its  value, 
be  assured  that  whatever  you  may  do,  it  will  become  his 
own,  and  that  you  will  no  longer  destroy  it.  My  con- 
clusion is,  that  to  render  a  young  man  judicious,  we  must 
carefully  form  his  judgments  instead  of  dictating  to  him 
our  own. 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  167 

You  see  that  up  to  this  point  I  have  not  spoken  to  my 
pupil  of  men,  for  he  will  have  too  much  good  sense  to 
understand  me  ;  his  relations  with  his  species  are  not  yet 
obvious  enough  for  him  to  be  able  to  judge  of  others  by 
himself.  He  knows  no  other  human  being  save  himself, 
and  he  is  even  very  far  from  knowing  himself ;  but  if  he 
expresses  few  judgments  of  himself,  at  least  he  expresses 
only  those  that  are  just.  He  does  not  know  what  the 
place  of  others  is,  but  he  recognizes  his  own  and  keeps 
it.  Instead  of  by  social  laws  which  he  can  not  know,  we 
have  bound  him  by  the  chains  of  necessity.  He  is  hardly 
more  than  a  physical  being ;  let  us  continue  to  keep  him 
such. 

It  is  through  their  sensible  relations  with  his  utility, 
his  safety,  his  preservation,  and  his  comfort,  that  he 
ought  to  appreciate  all  the  bodies  of  nature,  and  all  the 
works  of  men.  Thus,  in  his  eyes,  iron  ought  to  have  a 
far  greater  value  than  gold,  and  glass  than  a  diamond. 
So  also  he  will  honor  a  shoemaker  or  a  mason  much  more 
than  a  Lempereur,  a  Le  Blanc,  and  all  the  jewelers  of  Eu- 
rope. A  pastry-cook,  in  particular,  is  a  very  important 
man  in  his  eyes,  and  he  would  give  the  whole  Academy  of 
Science  for  the  smallest  confectioner  of  Lombard  Street. 
Goldsmiths,  engravers,  gilders,  embroiderers,  are,  in  his 
opinion,  but  idlers  who  amuse  themselves  at  pastimes 
which  are  perfectly  useless ;  he  does  not  even  put  much 
value  on  clock-making. 

I  do  not  inquire  whether  it  is  true  that  industry  is 
more  important  and  deserves  a  higher  recompense  in  the 
elegant  arts,  by  which  a  finish  is  given  to  original  materi- 
als, than  in  the  primary  labor  which  converts  them  to 
human  use ;  but  I  do  say  that  in  all  cases  the  art  whose 
use  is  the  most  general  and  the  most  indispensable  is 
incontestably  the  one  which  deserves  the  most  esteem ;  and 


168  tiMILE. 

that  the  one  to  which  fewer  arts  are  necessary  deserves  it 
still  more  than  those  more  subordinate,  because  it  is  freer 
and  nearer  independence.  These  are  the  true  rules  for 
estimating  arts  and  industries;  all  others  are  arbitrary, 
and  depend  on  opinion. 

The  first  and  most  respectable  of  all  the  arts  is  agri- 
culture. I  would  place  the  forge  in  the  second  rank, 
carpentering  in  the  third,  and  so  on.  The  child  who  has 
not  been  seduced  by  vulgar  prejudices  will  judge  of  them 
precisely  in  the  same  way.  How  many  important  reflec- 
tions on  this  point  will  our  Emile  draw  from  his  Robin- 
son Crusoe  !  What  will  he  think  as  he  sees  that  the  arts 
are  perfected  only  by  subdivision  and  by  multiplying  to 
infinity  their  respective  instruments?  He  will  say  to 
himself:  "All  these  people  are  stupidly  ingenious;  one 
would  think  that  they  are  afraid  that  their  arms  and 
fingers  may  be  good  for  something,  seeing  they  invent  so 
many  instruments  for  dispensing  with  them.  In  order  to 
practice  a  single  art  they  have  put  a  thousand  others 
under  contribution ;  a  city  is  necessary  for  each  work- 
man. As  for  my  companion  and  myself,  we  place  our 
genius  in  our  dexterity;  we  make  for  ourselves  instru- 
ments which  we  can  carry  everywhere  with  us.  All  these 
people,  so  proud  of  their  talents  in  Paris,  would  be  of  no 
account  on  our  island,  and  in  their  turn  would  be  our 
apprentices." 

Eeader,  do  not  pause  here  to  see  the  bodily  training 
and  manual  dexterity  of  our  pupil,  but  consider  what  di- 
rection we  are  giving  to  his  childish  curiosity ;  consider 
his  senses,  his  inventive  spirit,  his  foresight;  consider 
what  a  head  we  are  going  to  form  for  him  ;  in  everything 
he  sees,  in  everything  he  does,  he  will  wish  to  know  every- 
thing, and  understand  the  reason  of  everything :  from 
instrument  to  instrument,  he  will  always  ascend  to  the 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  169 

first;  he  will  take  nothing  on  trust;  he  will  refuse  to 
learn  that  which  can  not  be  understood  without  an  ante- 
rior knowledge  which  he  does  not  possess.  If  he  sees  a 
spring  made,  he  would  know  how  the  steel  was  taken  from 
the  mine ;  if  he  sees  the  pieces  of  a  box  put  together,  he 
would  know  how  the  tree  was  cut;  if  he  himself  is  at 
work,  at  each  tool  that  he  is  using  he  will  not  fail  to  say 
to  himself :  "  If  I  did  not  have  this  tool,  how  should  I 
go  to  work  to  make  one  like  it  or  to  do  without  it  ?  " 

Besides,  it  is  an  error  difficult  to  avoid,  in  occupations 
for  which  the  teacher  has  a  passion,  always  to  suppose 
that  the  child  has  the  same  taste.  Take  care,  when  the 
amusement  of  labor  engrosses  you,  lest  your  pupil  grow 
tired  of  it  without  daring  to  notify  you  of  it.  The  child 
ought  to  be  wholly  absorbed  in  the  thing  he  is  doing ;  but 
you  ought  to  be  wholly  absorbed  in  the  child — observing 
him,  watching  him  without  respite,  and  without  seeming 
to  do  so,  having  a  presentiment  of  his  feelings  in  advance, 
and  preventing  those  which  he  ought  not  to  have,  and, 
finally,  employing  him  in  such  a  way  that  he  not  only 
feels  that  he  is  useful  in  what  he  is  doing,  but  that  he 
may  feel  a  pleasure  in  it  from  clearly  comprehending  that 
what  he  does  has  a  useful  purpose. 

The  need  of  a  conventional  standard  of  value  by  which 
things  may  be  measured  and  exchanged  has  caused  money 
to  be  invented ;  for  money  is  but  a  term  of  comparison 
for  the  value  of  things  of  different  kinds;  and  in  this 
sense  money  is  the  true  bond  of  society.  But  every- 
thing may  be  money.  Formerly,  cattle  were  money,  and 
shells  still  are  among  several  peoples ;  iron  was  money  in 
Sparta,  leather  has  been  in  Sweden,  and  gold  and  silver 
are  with  us. 

Thus  explained,  the  use  of  this  invention  is  made  ob- 
vious to  the  most  stupid.  It  is  difficult  to  compare 


170 

immediately  things  of  different  kinds — cloth,  for  example 
— with  wheat ;  but  when  a  common  measure  has  been 
found,  namely,  money,  it  is  easy  for  the  manufacturer  and 
the  laborer  to  refer  the  value  of  the  things  which  they 
wish  to  exchange  to  this  common  measure.  If  a  given 
quantity  of  cloth  is  worth  a  given  sum  of  money,  and  if  a 
given  quantity  of  wheat  is  also  worth  the  same  sum  of 
money,  it  follows  that  the  merchant  receiving  this  wheat 
for  his  cloth  makes  an  equitable  exchange.  Thus  it  is 
by  means  of  money  that  goods  of  different  kinds  become 
commensurable,  and  may  be  compared. 

Do  not  go  further  than  this,  and  do  not  enter  into  an 
explanation  of  the  moral  effects  of  this  institution.  In 
everything  it  is  important  clearly  to  set  forth  its  uses 
before  showing  its  abuses.  If  you  attempt  to  explain  to 
children  how  signs  cause  things  to  be  neglected,  how  from 
money  proceed  all  the  vagaries  of-  opinion,  how  countries 
rich  in  money  must  be  poor  in  everything  else,  you  are 
treating  these  children  not  only  as  philosophers,  but  as 
men  of  wisdom ;  and  you  are  attempting  to  make  them 
understand  what  few  philosophers  even  have  clearly  com- 
prehended. 

To  what  an  abundance  of  interesting  objects  may  we 
not  thus  turn  the  curiosity  of  the  pupil  without  ever 
quitting  the  real  and  material  relations  which  are  within 
his  reach  or  allowing  a  single  idea  to  arise  in  his  mind 
which  he  can  not  comprehend !  The  art  of  the  teacher 
consists  in  never  allowing  his  observations  to  bear  on 
minutiae  which  serve  no  purpose,  but  ever  to  confront  him 
with  the  wide  relations  which  he  must  one  day  know  in 
order  to  judge  correctly  of  the  order,  good  and  bad,  of 
civil  society.  He  must  know  how  to  adapt  the  conversa- 
tions with  which  he  amuses  his  pupil  to  the  turn  of  mind 
which  he  has  given  him.  A  given  question  which  might 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  171  - 

f 

not  arouse  the  attention  of  another  would  torment  Emile 
•for  six  months. 

"We  go  to  dine  at  an  elegant  house,  and  find  all  the 
preparations  for  a  feast — many  people,  many  servants, 
many  dishes,  and  a  table-service  elegant  and  fine.  All 
this  apparatus  of  pleasure  and  feasting  has  something  in- 
toxicating in  it  which  affects  the  head  when  we  are  not 
accustomed  to  it.  I  foresee  the  effect  of  all  this  on  my 
young  pupil.  While  the  repast  is  prolonged,  while  the 
courses  succeed  each  other,  and  while  a  thousand  noisy 
speeches  are  in  progress  around  the  table,  I  approach  his 
ear  and  say  to  him  :  "  Through  how  many  hands  do  you 
really  think  has  passed  all  that  you  see  on  this  table  be- 
fore it  reaches  it?"  What  a  host  of  ideas  do  I  awaken  in 
his  mind  by  these  few  words !  In  an  instant  all  the 
vapors  of  delirium  are  expelled.  He  dreams,  he  reflects, 
he  calculates,  he  becomes  restless.  While  the  philoso- 
phers, enlivened  by  the  wine,  and  perhaps  by  their  com- 
panions, talk  nonsense  and  play  the  child,  he  philoso- 
phizes all  alone  in  his  corner.  He  interrogates  me,  but  I 
refuse  to  reply,  and  put  him  off  until  another  time ;  he 
becomes  impatient,  forgets  to  eat  and  drink,  and  longs  to 
be  away  from  the  table  in  order  to  converse  with  me  at 
his  ease.  What  an  object  for  his  curiosity  !  What  a  text 
for  his  instruction !  With  a  sound  judgment  which  noth- 
ing has  been  able  to  corrupt,  what  will  he  think  of  luxury 
when  he  finds  that  all  the  regions  of  the  world  have  been 
put  under  contribution,  that  twenty  millions  of  hands, 
perhaps,  have  been  at  work  for  a  long  time  to  create  the 
material  for  this  feast,  and  that  it  may  have  cost  the  lives 
of  thousands  of  men? 

Carefully  watch  the  secret  conclusions  which  he  draws 
in  his  heart  from  all  these  observations.  If  you  have 
guarded  him  less  carefully  than  I  suppose,  he  may  be 


172  EMILE. 

tempted  to  turn  his  reflections  in  another  direction,  and  to 
regard  himself  as  a  personage  of  importance  to  the  world, 
seeing  there  has  been  this  vast  combination  of  human  in- 
dustry for  the  preparation  of  his  dinner.  If  you  have  a 
presentiment  of  this  reasoning,  you  may  easily  prevent  it 
before  he  forms  it,  or,  at  least,  may  at  once  efface  its 
impression.  Not  yet  knowing  how  to  appreciate  things 
save  through  the  material  enjoyment  of  them,  he  can  not 
judge  of  their  fitness  or  uufitness  for  him  save  through 
obvious  relations.  The  comparison  of  a  simple  and  rus- 
tic dinner,  prepared  for  by  exercise  and  seasoned  by  hun- 
ger, liberty,  and  joy,  with  a  feast  so  magnificent  and  elab- 
orate, will  suffice  to  make  him  feel  that  as  all  this  festal 
preparation  has  given  him  no  real  profit,  and  as  his 
stomach  comes  just  as  well  satisfied  from  the  table  of  the 
peasant  as  from  that  of  the  banker,  there  was  nothing  at 
the  one  more  than  at  the  other  which  he  could  truly  call 
his  own. 

What  remains  for  us  to  do  after  having  observed  all 
that  surrounds  us  ?  To  convert  to  our  use  all  of  it  that 
we  can  appropriate  to  ourselves,  and  to  make  use  of  our 
curiosity  for  the  advantage  of  our  own  well-being.  Up  to 
this  point  we  have  provided  ourselves  with  instruments  of 
all  sorts,  without  knowing  which  of  them  we  shall  need. 
Perhaps,  though  useless  to  ourselves,  ours  will  be  able  to 
serve  others ;  and  possibly,  on  our  part,  we  shall  have 
need  of  theirs.  Thus  we  shall  all  find  our  advantage 
in  these  exchanges ;  but,  in  order  to  make  them,  we 
must  know  our  mutual  needs,  each  one  must  know 
what  others  have  for  their  use,  and  what  he  can  offer  to 
them  in  return.  Let  us  suppose  ten  men,  each  of  whom 
has  ten  different  needs.  It  is  necessary  that  each  one, 
for  his  own  necessities,  apply  himself  to  ten  sorts  of  labor ; 
but  by  reason  of  difference  in  genius  and  talent  one  will 


EMILE   FROM    TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  173 

be  less  successful  in  one  sort  of  work,  and  another  in  an- 
other. All,  fit  for  different  things,  will  do  the  same  things 
and  will  be  poorly  served.  Let  us  form  a  society  of  these 
ten  men,  and  let  each  one  apply  himself,  both  for  his  own 
sake  and  for  that  of  the  nine  others,  to  the  kind  of  occu- 
pation to  which  he  is  best  adapted.  Each  will  profit  by 
the  talents  of  the  others  as  if  he  alone  had  them  all ;  each 
will  perfect  his  own  by  a  continual  exercise ;  and  it  will 
come  to  pass  that  all  the  ten,  perfectly  well  provided  for, 
will  still  have  something  left  for  others.  This  is  the  ob- 
vious basis  of  all  our  institutions.  It  is  not  my  purpose 
in  this  place  to  examine  its  consequences ;  this  is  what 
I  have  done  in  another  treatise.* 

On  this  principle  a  man  who  would  regard  himself  as 
an  isolated  being,  dependent  on  no  one  and  sufficing  for 
himself,  would  not  fail  to  be  miserable.  It  would  be  even 
impossible  for  him  to  subsist;  for,  finding  the  entire 
earth  covered  with  thine  and  mine,  and  having  nothing 
of  his  own  but  his  body,  whence  would  he  derive  the 
necessaries  of  life?  By  withdrawing  from  the  state  of 
nature,  we  force  our  fellows  to  withdraw  from  it  also. 
No  one  can  remain  there  against  the  will  of  others ;  and 
it  would  really  be  to  withdraw  from  it  to  desire  to  remain 
there  in  the  impossibility  of  subsisting ;  for  the  first  law 
of  Nature  is  the  duty  of  self-preservation. 

Thus  are  formed  little  by  little  in  the  mind  of  a  child 
the  ideas  of  social  relations  even  before  he  is  really  able 
to  be  an  active  member  of  society.  Emile  sees  that  in 
order  to  have  articles  for  his  own  use  he  must  have  some 
necessary  for  the  use  of  others,  through  whom  he  can  ob- 
tain in  exchange  the  things  which  he  needs,  and  which 
are  in  their  power.  I  easily  lead  him  to  feel  the  need  of 

*  Discours  sur  1'Inegalite. 


174 

these  exchanges,  and  to  put  himself  in  a  condition  to  profit 
by  them. 

"  Sir,  it  is  necessary  for  me  to  live"  said  an  unfortu- 
nate satirical  author  to  the  minister  who  reproached  him 
with  the  infamy  of  his  calling — "  /  do  not  see  the  necessity 
for  it"  coldly  replied  the  man  in  power.  This  response, 
well  enough  for  a  minister,  would  have  been  barbarous 
and  false  in  the  mouth  of  any  one  else.  Every  man  must 
live.  This  argument,  to  which  every  one  gives  more  or 
less  force  in  proportion  as  he  is  more  or  less  human, 
seems  to  me  without  reply  when  made  by  any  one  with 
reference  to  himself.  Since,  of  all  the  aversions  given  us 
by  Nature,  the  strongest  is  that  for  death,  it  follows  that 
anything  is  permitted  by  her  to  any  one  who  has  no  other 
means  of  living.  The  principle  on  which  the  virtuous 
man  despises  life  and  sacrifices  it  to  his  duty  is  very  far 
from  this  primitive  simplicity.  Happy  the  people  among 
whom  one  can  be  good  without  effort  and  just  without 
virtue  !  If  there  is  any  miserable  country  in  the  world  where 
one  can  not  live  save  through  evil  doing,  and  where  the 
citizens  are  rogues  by  necessity,  it  is  not  the  criminal  who 
should  be  hung,  but  he  who  compels  him  to  become  such. 

As  soon  as  Emile  comes  to  know  what  life  is,  my 
first  care  shall  be  to  teach  him  how  to  preserve  it.  So 
far  I  have  not  distinguished  classes,  ranks,  or  fortunes; 
nor  shall  I  distinguish  them  scarcely  more  in  the  sequel, 
because  man  is  the  same  in  all  conditions.  A  rich  man 
does  not  have  a  larger  stomach  than  a  poor  man,  and  it 
digests  no  better  than  his;  the  arms  of  the  lord  are 
neither  longer  nor  stronger  than  those  of  his  slave ;  a 
great  man  is  no  larger  than  a  common  man ;  and,  finally, 
natural  needs  being  everywhere  the  same,  the  means  of 
providing  for  them  ought  everywhere  to  be  equal.  Adapt 
the  education  of  man  to  man,  and  not  to  that  which,  he 


SMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  175 

is  not.  Do  you  not  see  that  in  striving  to  educate  him 
exclusively  for  one  condition  you  are  making  him  useless 
for  every  other  ?  and  that,  if  it  please  Fortune,  you  have 
labored  only  to  make  him  unhappy?  What  is  there  more 
ridiculous  than  a  man  once  a  great  lord,  but  now  poor, 
who  retains  in  his  misery  the  prejudices  of  his  birth? 
What  is  there  more  abject  than  an  impoverished  rich 
man,  who,  recollecting  the  contempt  shown  to  poverty, 
feels  that  he  has  become  the  lowest  of  men  ?  The  sole 
resource  of  one  is  the  trade  of  public  cheat,  and  of  the 
other  that  of  a  cringing  valet  with  this  fine  phrase,  "It  is 
necessary  for  me  to  live." 

You  place  confidence  in  the  actual  state  of  society  with- 
out reflecting  that  this  state  is  subject  to  inevitable  revolu- 
tions, and  that  it  is  impossible  to  foresee  or  to  prevent  that 
which  may  confront  your  children.  The  great  become 
small,  the  rich  become  poor,  the  monarch  becomes  a  sub- 
ject. Are  the  blows  of  Fortune  so  rare  that  you  can  count 
on  being  exempt  from  them  ?  We  are  approaching  a  state 
of  crisis  and  a  century  of  revolutions.*  Who  can  answer 
to  you  for  what  you  will  then  become  ?  Whatever  men 
have  made,  men  may  destroy ;  there  are  no  ineffaceable 
characters  save  those  which  Nature  impresses,  and  Nature 
makes  neither  princes,  nor  millionaires,  nor  lords.  What, 
then,  will  that  satrap  do  in  his  fallen  state  whom  you  have 
educated  only  for  grandeur  ?  What  will  that  extortioner 
do  in  his  poverty  who  knows  how  to  live  only  on  gold  ? 
What  will  that  pompous  imbecile  do,  deprived  of  every- 
thing, who  can  make  no  use  of  himself,  and  who  employs 

*  I  hold  it  to  be  impossible  for  the  great  monarchies  of  Europe 
to  last  much  longer ;  all  have  achieved  brilliancy,  and  every  state  in 
this  condition  is  in  its  decline.  I  have  for  my  opinion  reasons  more 
cogent  than  this  maxim ;  but  this  is  not  the  time  to  declare  them, 
and  they  must  be  evident  to  all. 


176  EMILE. 

his  existence  only  in  what  is  foreign  to  himself  ?  Happy 
he  who  then  knows  how  to  turn  away  from  the  station 
which  he  quits,  and  can  remain  a  man  in  spite  of  Fort- 
une !  Praise  as  much  as  you  will  that  conquered  king 
who,  in  his  fury,  would  be  buried  under  the  ruins  of  his 
throne :  for  myself  I  despise  him.  I  see  that  he  owes  his 
existence  solely  to  his  crown,  and  that  if  he  were  not  king 
he  would  be  nothing  at  all.  But  he  who  loses  his  crown 
and  does  without  it,  is  then  superior  to  it.  From  the  rank 
of  king,  which  a  craven,  a  villain,  or  a  madman  might 
occupy  as  well,  he  ascends  to  the  state  of  man  which  so 
few  men  know  how  to  fill.  He  then  triumphs  over  Fort- 
une and  braves  her;  he  owes  nothing  save  to  himself 
alone ;  and  when  all  that  remains  to  him  to  show  is  him- 
self, he  is  not  a  cipher,  but  is  something.  Yes,  I  would  a 
hundred  times  rather  be  the  King  of  Syracuse  as  a  school- 
master at  Corinth,  and  the  King  of  Macedon  as  a  clerk 
at  Rome,*  than  an  unfortunate  Tarquin,  not  knowing 
what  will  become  of  him  if  he  does  not  reign,  or  than  the 
heir  of  the  possessor  of  three  kingdoms,  f  the  puppet  of 
whoever  dares  insult  his  misery,  wandering  from  court  to 
court,  seeking  assistance  everywhere  and  everywhere  find- 
ing affronts,  all  from  not  knowing  how  to  do  something 
besides  the  thing  which  is  no  longer  in  his  power. 

The  man  and  the  citizen,  whichever  he  may  be,  has 
no  other  valuable  to  give  to  society  than  himself,  all  his 
other  valuables  being  there  without  his  will ;  and  when  a 
man  is  rich,  either  he  does  not  enjoy  his  riches,  or  the 
public  enjoys  them  also.  In  the  first  case,  he  steals  from 
others  that  of  which  he  deprives  himself ;  and  in  the  sec- 

*  Alexander  [the  son  of  Perseus,  last],  King  of  Macedonia,  was 
the  secretary  of  a  Roman  magistrate. 

f  The  Prince  Charles  Edward,  called  the  Pretender,  grandson  of 
James  II,  King  of  England,  dethroned  in  1688.— (P.) 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN. 

ond,  he  gives  them  nothing.  So  the  entire  social  debt 
remains  with  him  as  long  as  he  pays  only  with  his  prop- 
erty. "  But,"  you  say,  "  my  father  served  society  while 
gaining  this  property."  Be  it  so ;  he  has  paid  his  own 
debt,  but  not  yours.  You  owe  more  to  others  than  as 
though  you  were  born  without  property ;  you  were  favored 
in  your  birth.  It  is  not  just  that  what  one  man  has  done 
for  society  should  release  another  from  what  he  owes  it ; 
for  each  one,  owing  his  entire  self,  can  pay  only  for  him- 
self, and  no  father  can  transmit  to  his  son  the  right  of 
being  useless  to  his  fellows ;  yet  that  is  what  he  does, 
according  to  you,  in  leaving  him  his  riches,  which  are 
the  proof  and  reward  of  labor.  He  who  eats  in  idleness 
what  he  himself  has  not  earned,  steals ;  and  a  land-holder 
whom  the  state  pays  for  doing  nothing  does  not  differ 
from  a  brigand  who  lives  at  the  expense  of  travelers. 
Outside  of  society,  an  isolated  man,  owing  nothing  to  any 
one,  has  a  right  to  live  as  he  pleases ;  but  in  society,  where 
he  necessarily  lives  at  the  expense  of  others,  he  owes  them 
in  labor  the  price  of  his  support ;  to  this  there  is  no  ex- 
ception. To  work,  then,  is  a  duty  indispensable  to  social 
man.  Rich  or  poor,  powerful  or  weak,  every  idle  citizen 
is  a  knave. 

Now,  of  all  the  occupations  which  can  furnish  sub- 
sistence to  man,  that  which  approaches  nearest  to  the 
state  of  Nature  is  manual  labor ;  of  all  the  conditions 
the  most  independent  of  fortune  and  of  men,  is  that  of 
the  artisan.  The  artisan  depends  only  on  his  labor.  He 
is  free — as  free  as  the  husbandman  is  a  slave ;  for  the  lat- 
ter is  dependent  on  his  field,  whose  harvest  is  at  the  dis- 
cretion of  others.  The  enemy,  the  prince,  a  powerful 
neighbor,  may  take  away  from  him  this  field ;  on  ac- 
count of  it  he  may  be  harassed  in  a  thousand  ways ;  but 
wherever  there  is  a  purpose  to  harass  the  artisan,  his  bag- 


178 

gage  is  soon  ready ;  he  folds  his  arms  and  walks  off. 
Still,  agriculture  is  the  first  employment  of  man ;  it  is 
the  most  honorable,  the  most  useful,  and  consequently  the 
most  noble  that  he  can  practice.  I  do  not  tell  Emile  to 
learn  agriculture,  for  he  knows  it.  All  rustic  employ- 
ments are  familiar  to  him  ;  it  is  with  them  that  he  began, 
and  to  them  he  will  ever  be  returning.  I  say  to  him,  then, 
Cultivate  the  heritage  of  your  fathers.  But  if  you  lose 
this  heritage,  or  if  you  have  none,  what  are  you  to  do  ? 
Learn  a  trade. 

"  A  trade  for  my  son  !  My  son  an  artisan  !  My  dear 
sir,  are  you  serious  ?  "  ,  More  serious  than  you  are,  madam, 
who  would  make  it  impossible  for  him  ever  to  be  any- 
thing but  a  lord,  a  marquis,  a  prince,  or  perhaps,  one  day, 
less  than  nothing ;  but  on  my  part  I  wish  to  give  him  a 
rank  which  he  can  not  lose,  a  rank  which  will  honor  him 
as  long  as  he  lives.  I  wish  to  raise  him  to  the  state  of 
manhood ;  and  whatever  you  may  say  of  it,  he  will  have 
fewer  equals  by  this  title  than  by  all  those  which  he  will 
derive  from  you. 

The  letter  kills  and  the  spirit  makes  alive.  It  is  im- 
portant to  learn  a  trade,  less  for  the  sake  of  knowing 
the  trade  than  for  overcoming  the  prejudices  which  de- 
spise it.  You  say  you  will  never  be  compelled  to  work 
for  a  living.  Ah,  so  much  the  worse — so  much  the  worse 
for  you  !  But  never  mind ;  do  not  work  from  necessity, 
but  work  for  glory.  Condescend  to  the  state  of  the  artisan 
in  order  to  be  above  your  own.  In  order  to  put  fortune 
and  things  under  subjection  to  you,  begin  by  making 
yourself  independent  of  them.  In  order  to  reign  by 
opinion,  begin  by  reigning  over  opinion. 

Recollect  that  it  is  not  an  accomplishment  that  I  de- 
mand of  you,  but  a  trade,  a  real  trade — an  art  purely 
mechanic,  where  the  hands  work  more  than  the  head, 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  179 

which  does  not  lead  to  fortune,  but  with  which  one  can 
dispense  with  fortune.  In  families  far  above  the  danger 
of  lacking  for  bread,  I  have  seen  fathers  carry  foresight 
so  far  as  to  add  to  the  duty  of  instructing  their  children 
the  duty  of  providing  them  with  the  knowledge  from 
which,  whatever  may  happen,  they  may  gain  the  means 
for  living.  These  provident  fathers  think  they  are  doing 
a  great  deal ;  but  they  are  doing  nothing,  because  the  re- 
sources which  they  fancy  they  are  economizing  for  their 
children  depend  on  that  very  fortune  of  which  they  wish 
to  make  them  independent.  So  that  with  all  those  accom- 
plishments, if  he  who  has  them  does  not  chance  to  be  in 
circumstances  favorable  for  making  use  of  them,  he  will 
perish  of  hunger  just  as  soon  as  though  he  had  none  of 
them. 

But  instead  of  resorting  for  a  livelihood  to  those  high 
knowledges  which  are  acquired  for  nourishing  the  soul 
and  not  the  body,  if  you  resort,  in  case  of  need,  to  your 
hands  arid  the  use  which  you  have  learned  to  make  of 
them,  all  difficulties  disappear,  all  artifices  become  useless ; 
you  have  resources  always  ready  at  the  moment  of  need. 
Probity  and  honor  are  no  longer  an  obstacle  to  living. 
You  no  longer  need  to  be  a  coward  and  a  liar  before 
the  great,  compliant  and  cringing  before  knaves,  the  base 
pimp  of  everybody,  borrower  or  thief,  which  are  almost 
the  same  thing  when  one  has  nothing.  The  opinions  of 
others  do  not  affect  you ;  you  have  no  one's  favor  to  court, 
no  fool  to  flatter,  and  no  porter  to  conciliate.  That 
rogues  manage  great  affairs  is  of  little  importance  to  you  ; 
this  will  not  prevent  you  in  your  obscure  mode  of  life 
from  being  an  honest  man  and  from  having  bread.  You 
enter  the  first  shop  whose  trade  you  have  learned  :  "  Fore- 
man, I  am  in  need  of  employment."  "  Fellow- workman, 
stand  there  and  go  to  work."  Before  noon  comes  you 
15 


180  EMILE. 

have  earned  your  dinner,  and  if  you  are  diligent  and  fru- 
gal, before  the  week  has  passed  you  will  have  the  where- 
withal to  live  for  another  week;  you  will  have  lived  a 
free,  healthy,  true,  industrious,  and  just  man.  It  is  not 
to  lose  one's  time  to  gain  it  in  this  way. 

I  insist  absolutely  that  Emile  shall  learn  a  trade.  "  An 
honorable  trade,  at  least,"  you  will  say.  What  does  this 
term  mean  ?  Is  not  every  trade  honorable  that  is  useful 
to  the  public  ?  I  do  not  want  him  to  be  an  embroiderer, 
a  gilder,  or  a  varnisher,  like  Locke's  gentleman ;  neither 
do  I  want  him  to  be  a  musician,  a  comedian,  or  a  writer 
of  books.*  Except  these  professions,  and  others  which 
resemble  them,  let  him  choose  the  one  he  prefers ;  I  do  not 
assume  to  restrain  him  in  anything.  I  would  rather  have 
him  a  cobbler  than  a  poet ;  I  would  rather  have  him  pave 
the  highways  than  to  decorate  china.  But,  you  will  say, 
"  Bailiffs,  spies,  and  hangmen  are  useful  people."  It  is 
the  fault  only  of  the  government  that  they  are  so.  But 
let  that  pass ;  I  was  wrong.  It  does  not  suffice  to  choose 
a  useful  calling ;  it  is  also  necessary  that  it  does  not  require 
of  those  who  practice  it  qualities  of  soul  which  are  odious 
and  incompatible  with  humanity.  Thus,  returning  to  our 
first  statement,  let  us  choose  an  honorable  calling;  but 
let  us  always  recollect  that  there  is  no  honor  without 
utility. 

This  is  the  spirit  which  should  guide  us  in  the  choice 
of  Emile's  occupation,  though  it  is  not  for  us  to  make 
this  choice,  but  for  him  ;  for,  as  the  maxims  with  which 
he  is  equipped  preserve  in  him  a  natural  contempt  for 

*  "  You  yourself  are  one,"  some  one  will  say.  I  am,  to  my  sorrow, 
I  acknowledge ;  and  my  faults,  which  I  think  I  have  sufficiently  ex- 
piated, are  no  reasons  why  others  should  have  similar  ones.  I  do 
not  write  to  excuse  my  faults,  but  to  prevent  my  readers  from  imi- 
tating them. 


EMILE  FROM   TWELVE  TO   FIFTEEN.  181 

useless  things,  he  will  never  wish  to  consume  his  time  in 
work  of  no  value,  and  he  knows  no  value  in  things  save 
that  of  their  real  utility.  He  must  have  a  trade  which 
might  serve  Robinson  in  his  island. 

By  causing  to  pass  in  review  before  a  child  the  pro- 
ductions of  Xature  and  art,  by  stimulating  his  curiosity 
and  following  it  where  it  leads,  we  have  the  advantage  of 
studying  his  tastes,  his  inclinations,  and  his  propensities, 
and  to  see  glitter  the  first  spark  of  his  genius,  if  he  has 
genius  of  any  decided  sort.  But  a  common  error,  and 
one  from  which  we  must  preserve  ourselves,  is  to  attrib- 
ute to  the  ardor  of  talent  the  effect  of  the  occasion,  and 
to  take  for  a  marked  inclination  toward  such  or  such  an 
art  the  imitative  spirit  which  is  common  to  man  and 
monkey,  and  which  mechanically  leads  both  to  wish  to  do 
whatever  they  see  done  without  knowing  very  well  what 
it  is  good  for.  The  world  is  full  of  artisans,  and  espe- 
cially of  artists,  who  have  no  natural  talent  for  the  art 
which  they  practice,  and  in  which  they  have  been  urged 
forward  from  their  earliest  age,  either  through  motives  of 
expedience,  or  through  an  apparent  but  mistaken  zeal 
which  would  have  also  led  them  toward  any  other  art  if 
they  had  seen  it  practiced  as  soon.  One  hears  a  drum 
and  thinks  himself  a  general ;  another  sees  a  house  built 
and  wishes  to  be  an  architect.  Each  one  is  drawn  to  the 
trade  which  he  sees  practiced,  when  he  believes  it  to  be 
held  in  esteem. 

But  perhaps  we  are  giving  too  much  importance  to 
the  choice  of  a  trade.  Since  we  have  in  view  only  manual 
labor,  this  choice  is  nothing  for  Emile,  and  his  apprentice- 
ship is  already  more  than  half  done,  through  the  tasks 
with  which  we  have  occupied  our  time  up  to  the  present 
moment.  What  do  you  wish  him  to  do  ?  He  is  ready 
for  everything.  He  already  knows  how  to  handle  the 


182  ^MILE. 

spade  and  the  hoe ;  he  can  use  the  lathe,  the  hammer, 
the  plane,  and  the  file;  the  tools  of  all  the  trades  are 
already  familiar  to  him.  All  he  has  to  do  in  addition  is 
to  acquire  of  some  of  these  tools  such  a  prompt  and  facile 
use  as  to  make  him  equal  in  speed  to  good  workmen 
using  the  same  tools,  and  on  this  point  he  has  a  great 
advantage  over  all  others ;  he  has  an  agile  body  and  flex- 
ible limbs,  which  can  assume  all  sorts  of  attitudes  without 
difficulty  and  prolong  all  sorts  of  movements  without 
effort.  Moreover,  he  has  accurate  and  well-trained  or- 
gans ;  all  the  machinery  of  the  arts  is  already  known  to 
him.  For  the  duties  of  master-workman  all  he  lacks  is 
habit,  and  habit  is  acquired  only  with  time.  To  which  of 
the  trades  whose  choice  it  depends  on  us  to  make  will  he 
give  sufficient  time  in  order  to  make  himself  expert  in  it  ? 
This  is  the  only  question  in  the  case. 

Give  to  the  man  a  trade  which  befits  his  sex,  and  to 
a  young  man  a  trade  which  befits  his  age ;  every  sedentary 
and  domestic  profession  which  effeminates  and  softens  the 
body  is  neither  pleasing  nor  adapted  to  him.  A  young 
lad  should  never  aspire  to  be  a  tailor. 

Work  in  metals  is  useful,  and  even  the  most  useful  of 
all.  However,  unless  some  special  reason  inclines  me  to  it, 
I  would  not  make  of  your  son  a  farrier,  a  locksmith,  or  a 
blacksmith ;  I  would  not  like  to  see  him  in  his  shop  the 
figure  of  a  Cyclops.  So  also  I  would  not  have  him  a 
mason,  and  still  less  a  shoe-maker.  All  trades  must  be 
practiced,  but  he  who  can  choose  ought  to  have  regard  for 
cleanliness,  for  this  is  not  a  matter  of  opinion ;  on  this 
point  the  senses  decide  for  us.  Finally,  I  would  have 
none  of  those  stupid  trades  whose  operatives,  without  in- 
genuity and  almost  automata,  never  exercise  their  hands 
save  at  one  kind  of  labor,  such  as  weavers,  stocking-makers, 
and  stone-cutters.  Of  what  use  is  it  to  employ  men  of 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO  FIFTEEN.  183 

sense  at  these  trades  ?    They  are  machines  in  charge  of 
another  machine. 

All  things  considered,  the  trade  which  I  would  rather 
have  be  to  the  taste  of  my  pupil  is  that  of  cabinet-maker. 
It  is  cleanly,  it  is  useful,  and  it  may  be  practiced  at  home ; 
it  keeps  the  body  sufficiently  exercised  ;  it  requires  of  the 
workman  skill  and  ingenuity,  and  in  the  form  of  the 
products  which  utility  determines,  elegance  and  taste  are 
not  excluded.  But  if,  perchance,  the  genius  of  your 
pupil  is  decidedly  turned  toward  the  speculative  sci- 
ences, then  I  would  not  blame  you  for  giving  him  a  trade 
adapted  to  his  inclinations ;  that  he  learn,  for  example, 
to  make  mathematical  instruments,  spy-glasses,  telescopes, 
etc. 

* 

AY  hen  Emile  learns  his  trade  I  wish  to  learn  it  with 
him ;  for  I  am  convinced  that  he  will  never  learn  anything 
well  save  what  we  learn  together.  We  then  put  ourselves 
in  apprenticeship,  and  we  do  not  assume  to  be  treated  as 
gentlemen,  but  as  real  apprentices,  who  are  not  such  for 
the  sport  of  the  thing.  Why  should  we  not  be  apprentices 
in  real  earnest  ?  The  Czar  Peter  was  a  carpenter  at  the 
bench  and  a  drummer  in  his  own  army ;  do  you  think  that 
this  prince  was  n6t  your  equal  by  birth  or  by  merit  ?  You 
understand  that  I  am  not  saying  this  to  Emile,  but  to  you, 
whoever  you  may  be.  Unfortunately,  we  can  not  spend  all 
our  time  at  the  bench.  We  are  not  only  apprenticed  work- 
men, but  we  are  apprenticed  men  ;  and  our  apprenticeship 
to  this  last  trade  is  longer  and  more  difficult  than  the  other.* 

*  Rousseau  here  enunciates  a  cardinal  doctrine  in  education, 
though  he  does  not  consistently  and  logically  maintain  it  through- 
out his  treatise,  as  when  he  gives  a  narrow  construction  to  the  term 
useful.  As  the  child's  prime  vocation  is  manhood,  liberal  or  hu- 
mane studies  should  have  precedence  over  technical  or  professional 
studies;  they  are  the  more  useful.  The  pupils  of  an  elementary 


184  EMILE. 

How,  then,  shall  we  proceed  ?  Shall  we  have  a  master  of 
the  plane  one  hour  a  day,  just  as  we  have  a  dancing- 
master  ?  No ;  we  shall  not  be  apprentices,  but  disciples ; 
and  our  ambition  is  not  so  much  to  learn  cabinet-making 
as  to  rise  to  the  position  of  cabinet-maker.  I  am  there- 
fore of  the  opinion  that  we  should  go,  at  least  once  or 
twice  a  week,  to  spend  a  whole  day  with  the  master  work- 
man ;  that  we  should  rise  when  he  does  ;  that  we  should 
be  at  work  before  he  comes ;  that  we  should  eat  at  his 
table,  work  under  his  orders,  and  that,  after  having 
had  the  honor  to  sup  with  his  family  we,  if  we  wish,  should 
return  to  rest  on  our  hard  beds.  This  is  how  we  learn 
several  trades  at  once,  and  how  we  employ  ourselves  at 
manual  labor  without  neglecting  the  other  apprenticeship. 

If  I  have  been  understood  thus  far,  it  ought  to  be  plain 
how,  with  the  habitual  exercise  of  the  body  and  labor  of 
the  hands,  I  insensibly  give  to  my  pupil  a  taste  for  reflection 
and  meditation  in  order  to  counterbalance  in  him  the  in- 
dolence which  would  result  from  his  indifference  for  the 
judgments  of  men  and  from  the  repose  of  his  passions. 
He  must  work  as  a  peasant  and  think  as  a  philosopher  in 
order  not  to  be  as  lazy  as  a  savage.  The  great  secret  of 
education  is  to  make  the  exercises  of  the  body  and  of  the 
mind  always  serve  as  a  recreation  for  each  other. 

We  have  now  returned  to  our  theme.  Here  is  our 
child  on  the  point  of  ceasing  to  be  such,  and  of  assuming 
his  individuality.  Here  he  is  feeling  more  than  ever  the 
necessity  which  attaches  him  to  things.  After  having  be- 
gun by  training  his  body  and  his  senses,  we  have  trained 
his  mind  and  his  judgment.  Finally,  we  have  connected 
with  the  use  of  his  limbs  the  use  of  his  faculties ;  we  have 

school  may  be  predestined  to  a  dozen  different  vocations,  but  their 
education  should  be  essentially  the  same. — (P.) 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  185 

made  him  an  active  and  a  thinking  being ;  and  nothing 
more  is  left  for  us  in  order  to  complete  the  man  than  to 
make  of  him  a  being  who  loves  and  feels — that  is,  to  perfect 
the  reason  .through  the  feelings.  But  before  entering  on 
this  new  order  of  things,  let  us  look  back  on  that  from 
which  we  started,  and  see,  as  exactly  as  possible,  what 
point  we  have  reached. 

At  first  our  pupil  had  only  sensations,  but  now  he  has 
ideas ;  all  he  did  was  to  feel,  but  now  he  judges ;  for  from 
the  comparison  of  several  successive  or  simultaneous  sen- 
sations with  the  judgment  which  we  derive  from  them 
there  proceeds  a  sort  of  mixed  or  complex  sensation  which 
I  call  an  idea. 

The  manner  of  forming  ideas  is  what  gives  its  charac- 
teristic to  the  human  mind.  The  mind  which  forms  its 
ideas  solely  on  real  relations  is  a  strong  mind  ;  that  which 
contents  itself  with  apparent  relations  is  a  superficial 
mind  ;  that  which  sees  relations  just  as  they  are  is  an  accu- 
rate mind ;  that  which  estimates  their  value  imperfectly  is 
an  unsound  mind;  he  who  invents  imaginary  relations 
which  have  neither  reality  nor  appearance  is  a  lunatic ; 
while  he  who  does  not  compare  at  all  is  an  imbecile.  The 
greater  or  less  aptitude  for  comparing  ideas  and  finding 
their  relations  is  that  which  makes  the  minds  of  men  the 
larger  or  the  smaller. 

Simple  ideas  are  but  compared  sensations.  There  are 
judgments  in  simple  sensations  as  well  as  in  complex 
sensations,  which  I  call  simple  ideas.  In  sensation  the 
judgment  is  purely  passive ;  it  affirms  that  one  feels  what 
he  feels.  In  perception  or  idea  the  judgment  is  active ; 
it  brings  together,  it  compares,  it  determines  relations 
which  sense  does  not  determine.  This  is  the  whole  differ- 
ence, but  it  is  great.  Nature  never  deceives  us.  It  is 
always  we  who  deceive  ourselves.  I  see  a  child  eight  years 


186  EMILE. 

old  served  with  ice  cream;  he  carries  the  spoon  to  his 
mouth  without  knowing  what  it  is,  and,  shocked  by  the 
cold,  cries  out,  "Ah  f  that  burns  me."  He  experiences  a 
very  vivid  sensation  ;  he  knows  nothing  more  vivid  than 
the  heat  of  fire,  and  he  thinks  that  it  is  this  which  he 
feels.  Nevertheless  he  is  mistaken  ;  the  shock  of  the  cold 
hurts  him,  but  it  does  not  burn  him.  These  two  sensa- 
tions are  not  similar,  since  those  who  have  experienced 
both  do  not  confound  them.  It  is  not,  then,  the  sensation 
which  deceives  him,  but  the  judgment  which  he  derives 
from  it. 

Since  all  our  errors  come  from  our  judgment,  it  is 
clear  that  if  we  never  needed  to  judge  we  should  have  no 
need  to  learn ;  we  should  never  be  in  a  situation  to  de- 
ceive ourselves ;  we  should  be  happier  in  our  ignorance 
than  we  could  be  with  our  knowledge.  Who  denies  that 
scholars  know  a  thousand  true  things  which  the  ignorant 
will  never  know  ?  Are  scholars  nearer  the  truth  on  this 
account  ?  Quite  the  contrary :  they  depart  from  truth  as 
they  advance ;  because  the  vanity  of  judging,  ever  making 
greater  progress  than  knowledge,  each  truth  which  they 
learn  brings  with  it  a  hundred  false  judgments.  It  is 
absolutely  certain  that  the  learned  societies  of  Europe  are 
but  so  many  public  schools  of  falsehood ;  and  very  surely 
there  are  more  errors  in  the  Academy  of  Sciences  than  in 
the  whole  tribe  of  Hurons. 

Since  the  more  men  know  the  more  they  are  deceived, 
the  only  means  of  shunning  error  is  ignorance.*  Do  not 
judge  and  you  will  never  be  mistaken.  This  is  the  teach- 

*  If  liability  to  error  increases  with  our  knowledge,  the  infinitely 
wise  would  also  be  infinitely  fallible.  Rousseau's  declaration  that 
ignorance  is  a  defense  against  error,  might  well  raise  the  question 
of  his  sanity  if  we  did  not  recollect  his  passion  for  paradox  and 
rhetoric.— (P.) 


F.MILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN.  i§7 

ing  of  Nature  as  well  as  of  reason.  Outside  of  a  very 
small  number  of  immediate  and  very  obvious  relations 
which  things  have  with  us,  we  have  naturally  only  a  pro- 
found indifference  for  everything  else.  A  savage  would 
not  take  a  step  to  see  the  operation  of  the  finest  machine 
and  all  the  wonders  of  electricity.  What  is  that  to  me  9 
is  the  phrase  most  familiar  to  the  ignorant  and  the  most 
appropriate  to  the  wise. 

But,  unfortunately,  this  phrase  is  no  longer  in  keeping 
with  us.  Everything  concerns  us,  since  we  are  dependent 
on  everything  ;  and  our  curiosity  necessarily  extends  with 
our  needs.  This  is  why  I  have  ascribed  very  great  curi- 
osity to  the  philosopher  and  none  at  all  to  the  savage. 
The  latter  stands  in  need  of  no  one ;  the  other  has  need  of 
everybody,  and  especially  of  admirers. 

I  shall  be  told  that  I  am  departing  from  Nature,  but 
this  I  do  not  admit.  She  chooses  her  instruments,  not 
according  to  opinion  but  according  to  necessity.  Now, 
needs  change  with  the  situation  of  men.  There  is  a 
wide  difference  between  natural  man  living  in  a  state 
of  nature  and  natural  man  living  in  a  state  of  society. 
Emile  is  not  a  savage  to  be  banished  to  a  desert,  but  a 
savage  made  to  live  in  cities.  He  must  know  how  to  find 
his  subsistence  there,  to  derive  advantage  from  their  in- 
habitants, and  to  live,  if  not  as  they  do,  at  least  to  live 
with  them. 

As  he  knows  by  experience  that  my  most  frivolous 
questions  have  some  object  which  he  does  not  at  first 
perceive,  he  has  not  formed  a  habit  of  replying  to  them 
carelessly ;  on  the  contrary,  he  is  cautious  of  them,  gives 
them  his  attention,  and  examines  them  with  great  care 
before  replying  to  them.  He  never  makes  me  a  reply 
with  which  he  is  not  himself  satisfied ;  and  he  is  very 
hard  to  satisfy.  Finally,  neither  of  us  is  in  a  fret  to 


188  EMILE. 

know  the  truth  of  things,  but  only  not  to  fall  into 
error.  We  should  be  much  more  unwilling  to  accept  a 
reason  which  is  not  good  than  not  to  find  it  at  all.  /  do 
not  know  is  a  phrase  which  becomes  us  both  so  well,  and 
which  we  repeat  so  often,  that  it  no  longer  costs  either  of 
us  anything.  But,  whether  some  thoughtlessness  escape 
him,  or  whether  he  shun  it  by  our  handy  /  do  not  know, 
my  reply  is  the  same :  Let  us  see  ;  let  us  examine. 

Emile  will  never  have  dissected  insects,  will  never  have 
counted  the  spots  on  the  sun,  and  will  not  know  what  a 
microscope  or  a  telescope  is.  Your  wise  pupils  will  ridi- 
cule his  ignorance,  and  they  will  not  be  wrong ;  for,  before 
using  these  instruments,  I  intend  that  he  shall  invent 
them,  and  you  are  very  doubtful  whether  this  can  be  done 
so  soon. 

This  is  the  spirit  of  my  whole  method  so  far.  If  the 
child  places  a  little  ball  between  two  crossed  fingers  and 
thinks  he  feels  two  balls,  I  will  not  allow  him  to  look  at 
them  until  he  is  convinced  that  there  is  but  one  there. 

These  explanations  will  suffice,  I  think,  clearly  to  mark 
the  progress  which  the  mind  of  my  pupil  has  so  far  made, 
and  the  route  by  which  he  has  followed  this  progress. 
But  you  are  frightened,  perhaps,  at  the  quantity  of  things 
which  I  have  made  to  pass  before  him.  You  fear  lest  I 
weigh  down  his  mind  under  this  mass  of  knowledge. 
The  very  contrary  is  true :  I  teach  him  much  more  to 
ignore  these  things  than  to  know  them.  I  show  him  the 
route  to  learning,  easy,  in  truth,  but  long,  boundless,  and 
slow  to  traverse.  I  have  made  him  take  the  first  steps 
in  order  that  he  may  recognize  the  entrance  to  it,  but  I 
shall  never  allow  him  to  go  far. 

Compelled  to  learn  for  himself,  he  uses  his  own  reason 
and  not  that  of  others ;  for  in  order  to  grant  nothing  to 
opinion,  you  must  grant  nothing  to  authority ;  and  the 


EMILE   FROM   TWELVE   TO   FIFTEEN.  189 

most  of  our  errors  come  much  less  from  ourselves  than 
from  others.  From  this  continual  exercise  there  should 
result  a  vigor  of  mind  similar  to  that  which  is  given  the 
body  by  labor  and  fatigue.  Another  advantage  is  that 
we  advance  only  in  proportion  to  our  strength.  The 
mind  like  the  body  can  carry  no  greater  weight  than  it  can 
support.  When  the  understanding  appropriates  things 
before  depositing  them  in  the  memory,  that  which  it 
afterward  draws  from  it  is  its  own ;  whereas  by  overbur- 
dening the  memory  unwarily  we  run  the  risk  of  never 
drawing  from  it  anything  which  is  our  own. 

Emile  has  little  knowledge,  but  what  he  has  is  really 
his  own;  he  knows  nothing  by  halves.  Of  the  small 
number  of  things  which  he  knows,  and  knows  well,  the 
most  important  is  that  there  is  much  which  he  does  not 
know  but  which  he  may  one  day  know ;  much  more  that 
other  men  know  and  that  he  will  never  know ;  and  an  in- 
finity of  other  things  which  no  man  will  ever  know.  He 
has  a  mind  that  is  universal,  not  through  its  knowledge, 
but  through  its  facility  of  acquiring  it;  a  mind  that  is 
open,  intelligent,  ready  for  everything,  and,  as  Montaigne 
says,  if  not  taught,  at  least  teachable.  It  is  sufficient  for 
me  that  he  can  find  the  what  profits  it  of  everything  he 
does,  and  the  why  of  everything  he  believes.  Once  more, 
my  purpose  is  not  at  all  to  give  him  knowledge,  but  to 
teach  him  how  to  acquire  it  when  necessary,  to  make  him 
estimate  it  exactly  for  what  it  is  worth,  and  to  make  him 
love  truth  above  everything  else.  With  this  method  we 
advance  slowly,  but  we  never  take  a  useless  step  and  are 
never  compelled  to  go  back. 

Emile  has  only  natural  and  purely  physical  knowl- 
edge. He  does  not  know  even  the  name  of  history,  nor 
what  metaphysics  and  ethics  are.  He  knows  the  essential 
relations  of  man  to  things,  but  nothing  of  the  moral  rela- 


190  EMILE. 

tions  of  man  to  man.  He  can  generalize  ideas  but  little, 
and  can  make  but  few  abstractions.  He  sees  qualities 
common  to  certain  bodies  without  reasoning  on  these 
qualities  in  themselves.  He  knows  abstract  extension  by 
the  aid  of  geometrical  figures,  and  abstract  quantity  by  the 
aid  of  algebraic  signs.  These  figures  and  these  signs  are 
the  supports  of  these  abstractions  on  which  his  senses  rest. 
He  does  not  seek  to  know  things  through  their  nature, 
but  only  through  the  relations  which  interest  him.  He 
estimates  what  is  foreign  to  him  only  through  its  relation 
to  himself ;  but  this  estimate  is  exact  and  sure.  Fancy 
and  convention  play  no  part  in  it.  He  sets  most  store  by 
what  is  most  useful  to  him ;  and  never  departing  from 
this  manner  of  appraising,  he  pays  no  attention  to  opinion. 

Emile  is  industrious,  temperate,  patient,  firm,  and  full 
of  courage.  His  imagination,  in  nowise  enkindled,  never 
magnifies  dangers  for  him.  He  is  sensible  to  few  evil?, 
and  knows  how  to  suffer  with  constancy  because  he  has 
not  learned  to  contend  against  destiny.  "With  respect  to 
death,  he  does  not  yet  know  clearly  what  it  is ;  but  ac- 
customed to  submit  without  resistance  to  the  law  of  ne- 
cessity, when  he  must  die  he  will  die  without  a  groan  and 
without  a  struggle ;  and  this  is  all  that  Nature  permits  in 
that  moment  abhorred  by  all.  To  live  in  freedom  and  in 
but  slight  dependence  on  things  human  is  the  best  means 
of  learning  how  to  die. 

In  a  word,  Emile  has  every  virtue  which  is  related  to 
himself.  In  order  to  have  the  social  virtues  also,  all  he 
lacks  is  to  know  the  relations  which  exact  them ;  he  lacks 
merely  the  knowledge  which  his  mind  is  wholly  prepared 
to  receive. 

He  considers  himself  without  regard  to  others,  and 
thinks  it  well  that  others  are  not  thinking  at  all  of  him. 
He  exacts  nothing  of  any  one,  and  believes  that  he  is  in 


EMILE  FROM  TWELVE  TO  FIFTEEN. 

debt  to  nobody.  He  is  alone  in  human  society,  and  counts 
only  on  himself.  He  has  also  a  greater  right  than  any 
other  to  count  upon  himself,  for  he  is  all  that  one  can  be 
at  his  age.  He  has  no  faults,  or  has  only  those  which  are 
inevitable  to  us;  he  has  no  vices,  or  only  those  against 
which  no  man  can  protect  himself.  He  has  a  sound 
body,  agile  limbs,  a  just  and  unprejudiced  mind,  and  a 
heart  that  is  free  and  without  passions.  Self-love,  the 
first  and  the  most  natural  of  all,  is  as  yet  scarcely  excited 
in  it.  Without  disturbing  the  repose  of  any  one,  he  has 
lived  as  contented,  happy,  and  free  as  Nature  has  per- 
mitted. Do  yon  think  that  a  child  who  has  thus  reached 
his  fifteenth  year  has  lost  the  years  preceding  ? 


BOOK  FOUKTH. 

EMILE    FROM  FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY  — THE   PERIOD  OF  MORAL 
AND  RELIGIOUS   EDUCATION. 

How  swift  is  our  passage  over  this  earth !  The  first 
quarter  of  life  has  slipped  away  before  we  know  its  use, 
and  the  last  quarter  also  slips  away  after  we  have  ceased 
to  enjoy  it.  At  first  we  do  not  know  how  to  live ;  soon 
we  are  no  longer  able  to  live ;  and  in  the  interval  which 
separates  these  two  useless  extremities  three  quarters  of 
the  time  which  remains  to  us  is  consumed  in  sleep,  in 
labor,  in  suffering,  in  constraint,  in  troubles  of  every  de- 
scription. Life  is  short,  less  through  the  brevity  of  the 
time  that  it  lasts  than  because,  of  this  brief  period,'  we 
have  almost  nothing  for  enjoying  it.  It  matters  not  that 
the  moment  of  death  is  far  removed  from  that  of  birth, 
for  life  is  always  too  short  when  this  space  is  badly  filled. 

We  have  two  births,  so  to  speak — one  for  existing  and 
the  other  for  living;  one  for  the  species  and  the  other 
for  the  sex. 

But  man  in  general  is  not  made  to  remain  always  in  a 
state  of  infancy.  He  passes  out  of  it  at  a  time  prescribed 
by  Nature ;  and  this  critical  moment,  though  very  short, 
has  lasting  influences. 

As  the  tempest  is  announced  from  afar  by  the  roaring 
of  the  sea,  so  this  stormy  revolution  is  foretold  by  the 
murmur  of  the  rising  passions;  a  rumbling  agitation 
warns  us  of  the  approach  of  danger. 

(192) 


SMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  193 

Here  is  the  second  birth  of  which  I  have  spoken ;  it  is 
here  that  man  really  begins  to  live,  and  nothing  human  is 
foreign  to  him.  So  far  our  cares  have  been  but  child's 
play;  it  is  only  now  that  they  assume  a  real  importance. 
This  epoch,  where  ordinary  education  ends,  is  properly  the 
one  where  ours  ought  to  begin. 

Our  passions  are  the  principal  instruments  of  our  con- 
servation, and  it  is  therefore  an  attempt  as  vain  as  it  is 
ridiculous  to  wish  to  destroy  them ;  it  would  be  to  control 
Nature  and  reform  the  work  of  God.  If  God  were  to  tell 
man  to  destroy  the  passions  which  he  has  given  him,  God 
would  and  would  not,  he  would  contradict  himself.  But 
he  has  never  gived  this  senseless  order ;  nothing  like  it  is 
written  in  the  human  heart;  and  whatever  God  wishes  a 
man  to  do  he  does  not  cause  it  to  be  told  to  him  by 
another  man,  but  he  says  it  to  him  himself,  he  writes  it  in 
the  depths  of  his  heart. 

The  source  of  our  passions,  the  origin  and  basis  of  all 
the  others,  the  only  one  which  is  born  with  man  and  never 
leaves  him  while  he  lives,  is  the  love  of  self.  This  passion 
is  primitive,  innate,  anterior  to  every  other,  and  of  which, 
in  some  sense,  all  the  others  are  but  modifications.  In 
this  sense  all  of  them,  so  to  speak,  are  natura.1 ;  but  the 
most  of  these  modifications  have  foreign  causes  without 
which  they  would  never  have  existed,  and  these  very 
modifications,  far  from  being  advantageous  to  us,  are 
harmful ;  they  change  the  primitive  object  and  go  counter 
to  their  purpose.  It  is  then '  that  man  finds  himself 
estranged  from  Nature  and  in  contradiction  with  him- 
self. 

Love  of  one's  self  is  always  good  and  always  in  con- 
formity with  order.  Each  one  being  especially  charged 
with  his  own  conservation,  the  first  and  the  most  impor- 
ant  of  all  his  cares  is  and  ought  to  be  to  guard  it  with 


194 

o-easeless  vigilance;  and  how  shall  he  do  this  unless  he 
takes  the  greatest  interest  in  it  ? 

It  is  therefore  necessary  that  we  love  ourselves  in  order 
to  preserve  ourselves.  We  must  love  ourselves  more  than 
anything  else ;  and,  through  an  immediate  consequence  of 
the  same  feeling,  we  love  that  which  preserves  us.  Every 
child  becomes  attached  to  his  nurse.  Romulus  must  needs 
feel  an  attachment  for  the  wolf  that  suckled  him.  What- 
ever favors  the  well-being  of  an  individual  attracts  him, 
and  whatever  harms  him  repels  him ;  and  this  is  but  a 
blind  instinct.  That  which  transforms  this  instinct  into 
a  feeling,  attachment  into  love,  and  aversion  into  hatred, 
is  the  manifest  intention  of  hurting  *us  or  of  doing  us 
good. 

The  first  feeling  of  a  child  is  to  love  himself,  and  the 
second,  which  is  derived  from  the  first,  is  to  love  those 
who  come  near  him ;  for  in  the  state  of  weakness  in  which 
he  is  he  knows  no  one  save  through  the  care  and  assist- 
tance  which  he  receives.  At  first,  the  attachment  which 
he  has  for  his  nurse  and  his  governess  is  but  habit.  He 
seeks  them  because  he  has  need  of  them  and  finds  it  well 
to  have  them ;  it  is  rather  knowledge  than  benevolence. 
It  requires  much  time  for  him  to  comprehend  that  they 
are  not  only  useful  to  him,  but  that  they  wish  to  be  so. 
It  is  then  that  he  begins  to  love  them. 

A  child  is  then  naturally  inclined  to  benevolence  be- 
cause he  sees  that  everything  which  approaches  him  is 
brought  to  assist  him,  and  he  derives  from  this  observa- 
tion the  habit  of  feeling  favorably  disposed  toward  his 
species ;  but  in  proportion  as  he  extends  his  relations,  his 
needs,  and  his  active  or  passive  dependencies,  the  feeling 
of  his  relations  to  others  is  aroused  and  produces  that  of 
duties  and  preferences.  Then  the  child  becomes  imperi- 
ous, jealous,  deceptive,  and  vindictive.  If  he  is  con- 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY. 

strained  to  obedience,  not  seeing  the  utility  of  what  he  is 
commanded  to  do,  he  attributes  it  to  caprice  or  to  the  in- 
tention of  tormenting  him,  and  he  rebels.  If  he  himself 
is  obeyed,  the  moment  anything  resists  him  he  sees  in  it 
a  rebellion,  an  intention  of  resisting  him;  and  he  beats 
the  chair  or  table  for  having  disobeyed  him.  The  love 
of  self  (amour  de  soi),  which  regards  only  ourselves,  is 
content  when  our  real  needs  are  satisfied ;  but  self-love 
(amour-propre),  which  makes  comparisons,  is  never  satis- 
fied, and  could  not  be,  because  this  feeling,  by  preferring 
ourselves  to  others,  also  requires  that  others  prefer  our- 
selves to  them — a  thing  which  is  impossible.*  This  is 
how  the  gentle  and  affectionate  passions  spring  from  the 
love  of  self,  while  the  malevolent  and  irascible  passions 
spring  from  self-love.  Thus,  that  which  makes  man 
essentially  good  is  to  have  few  needs  and  to  compare 
himself  but  little  with  others ;  while  that  which  makes 
him  essentially  bad  is  to  have  many  needs  and  to  pay 
great  deference  to  opinion.  On  this  principle  it  is  easy 
to  see  how  we  may  direct  to  good  or  to  evil  all  the  passions 
of  children  and  of  men.  It  is  true  that,  not  being  able  to 
live  always  alone,  they  will  find  it  difficult  to  live  always 
good.  And  this  very  difficulty  will  necessarily  increase 
with  their  relations ;  and  it  is  particularly  in  this  that  the 
dangers  of  society  render  art  and  care  the  more  indis- 
pensable to  us  for  preventing  in  the  human  heart  the 
depravation  which  springs  from  its  new  needs. 

The  study  proper  for  man  is  that  of  his  relations. 

*  Rousseau  distinguishes  love  of  self  (amour  de  soi)  from  self- 
love  (amour-propre).  The  first  feeling  is  directed  toward  simple 
well-being,  has  no  reference  whatever  to  others,  and  is  unselfish, 
The  second  feeling,  on  the  contrary,  leads  the  individual  to  compare 
himself  with  others,  and  sometimes  to  seek  his  own  advantage  at 
their  expense.  Our  term  self-love  includes  both  meanings. — (P.) 
10 


196  ^MILE. 

While  he  knows  himself  only  through  his  physical  being, 
he  ought  to  study  himself  through  his  relations  with 
things,  and  this  is  the  occupation  of  his  childhood  ;  but 
when  he  begins  to  feel  his  moral  nature,  he  ought  to  study 
himself  through  his  relations  with  men,  and  this  is  the 
occupation  of  his  entire  life,  beginning  at  the  point  we 
have  now  reached. 

As  soon  as  man  has  need  of  a  companion,  he  is  no 
longer  an  isolated  being,  his  heart  is  no  longer  alone.  All 
his  relations  with  his  species,  and  all  the  affections  of  his 
soul,  are  born  with  her.  His  first  passion  soon  causes  the 
rise  of  others. 

The  instructions  of  nature  are  tardy  and  slow,  while 
those  of  men  are  almost  always  premature.  In  the  first 
case,  the  senses  arouse  the  imagination ;  and  in  the  second, 
the  imagination  arouses  the  senses  and  gives  them  a  pre- 
cocious activity  which  can  not  fail  to  enervate  and  en- 
feeble, first  the  individual,  and  then,  in  the  course  of  time, 
the  species  itself.  A  more  general  and  a  more  trust- 
worthy observation  than  that  of  the  effect  of  climate  is 
that  puberty  and  sexual  power  always  come  earlier  among 
educated  and  refined  people  than  among  ignorant  and 
barbarous  people.  Children  have  a  singular  sagacity  in 
discerning  through  all  the  affectations  of  decency  the  bad 
manners  which  it  conceals.  The  refined  language  which 
we  dictate  to  them,  the  lessons  of  propriety  which  we  give 
them,  the  veil  of  mystery  which  we  affect  to  draw  before 
their  eyes,  are  so  many  spurs  to  their  curiosity.  From 
the  manner  in  which  we  go  about  this,  it  is  clear  that 
what  we  feign  to  conceal  from  them  is  only  so  much  for 
them  to  learn  ;  and  of  all  the  lessons  which  we  give  them 
this  is  the  one  which  they  turn  to  the  largest  account. 

If  the  age  at  which  man  acquires  the  consciousness  of 
his  sex  differs  as  much  through  the  effect  of  education  as 


E"MILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  197 

through  the  action  of  nature,  it  follows  that  we  may  ac- 
celerate or  retard  this  age  according  to  the  manner  in 
which  children  are  educated  ;  and  if  the  body  gains  or 
loses  consistency  in  proportion  as  we  retard  or  accelerate 
this  progress,  it  also  follows  that  the  more  we  strive  to 
retard  it  the  greater  the  vigor  and  power  which  a  young 
man  will  acquire.  I  am  now  speaking  of  purely  physical 
effects ;  but  we  shall  soon  see  that  these  are  not  the  only 
ones. 

From  these  reflections  I  draw  the  solution  of  this  ques- 
tion so  often  agitated,  whether  it  is  best  to  enlighten  chil- 
dren at  an  early  hour  on  the  objects  of  their  curiosity,  or 
whether  it  is  not  best  to  satisfy  them  with  modest  but  false 
explanations.  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  to  do  either.  In 
the  first  place,  this  curiosity  does  not  come  to  them  unless 
we  have  paved  the  way  for  it.  We  must  then  proceed  in 
such  a  way  that  they  will  not  have  it.  In  the  second  place, 
questions  which  we  are  not  compelled  to  answer  do  not 
require  us  to  deceive  the  one  who  asks  them ;  it  is  much 
better  to  impose  silence  on  him  than  to  make  him  a  reply 
which  is  false.  This  law  will  cause  him  little  surprise 
if  we  have  taken  care  to  subject  him  to  it  in  things  which 
are  indifferent.  Finally,  if  we  decide  to  reply  to  them, 
let  it  be  done  with  the  greatest  simplicity,  without  mystery, 
without  embarrassment,  and  without  a  smile.  There  is 
much  less  danger  in  satisfying  the  curiosity  of  the  child 
than  in  exciting  it. 

Let  your  replies  always  be  grave,  short,  decided,  and 
without  ever  seeming  to  hesitate.  I  need  not  add  that 
they  ought  to  be  true.  We  can  not  teach  children  the 
danger  of  lying  to  men  without  feeling,  as  men,  the  great- 
er danger  of  lying  to  children.  One  single  falsehood  told 
by  a  teacher  to  his  pupil,  and  known  to  be  such,  would 
forever  ruin  all  the  fruits  of  an  education. 


198  EMILE. 

An  absolute  ignorance  of  certain  things  is  perhaps 
what  is  most  advisable  for  children ;  but  let  them  learn 
at  an  early  hour  that  which  it  is  impossible  always  to  con- 
ceal from  them.  It  is  necessary  either  that  their  curiosity 
be  not  awakened  in  any  way,  or  that  it  be  satisfied  before 
the  age  when  it  is  no  longer  a  danger.  In  this  matter 
your  manner  of  treating  your  pupil  will  depend  much  on 
his  particular  situation,  on  the  society  in  which  he  moves, 
and  on  the  circumstances  by  which  it  is  foreseen  he  will 
be  surrounded.  It  is  important  in  such  cases  to  trust 
nothing  to  chance  ;  and  if  you  are  not  sure  of  keeping  him 
in  ignorance  of  the  difference  of  the  sexes  up  to  his  six- 
teenth year,  take  care  that  he  learn  it  before  the  age  of  ten. 

In  your  dealings  with  children  I  would  not  have  you 
affect  a  language  which  is  too  refined ;  nor  that  you  make 
long  detours,  which  they  perceive,  in  order  to  avoid  giving 
to  things  their  real  names.  In  these  matters  good  man- 
ners always  have  great  simplicity ;  but  imaginations  sul- 
lied by  vice  make  the  ear  fastidious,  and  are  ever  forcing 
us  to  adopt  refinements  of  expression.  Gross  terms  are 
of  no  consequence;  it  is  lewd  thoughts  which  must  be 
shunned. 

Though  modesty  is  natural  to  the  human  species,  chil- 
dren are  naturally  destitute  of  it.  Modesty  is  born  only 
with  the  knowledge  of  evil ;  how,  then,  shall  children 
who  neither  have  nor  ought  to  have  this  knowledge  have 
the  feeling  which  is  the  effect  of  it  ?  To  give  them  les- 
sons in  modesty  and  honor  is  to  teach  them  that  there 
are  things  that  are  shameful  and  dishonorable,  and  to 
give  them  a  secret  desire  to  know  these  things.  Sooner 
or  later  they  succeed  in  this,  and  the  first  spark  which 
touches  the  imagination  will  most  certainly  accelerate  the 
conflagration  of  the  senses.  Whoever  blushes  is  already 
guilty  ;  true  innocence  is  ashamed  of  nothing. 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  199 

1  see  but  one  good  means  of  preserving  the  innocence 
of  children ;  and  this  is,  that  all  those  who  surround  them 
respect  and  love  it.  Without  this  all  the  prudence  which 
we  try  to  make  use  of  with  them  comes  to  naught  sooner 
or  later ;  a  smile,  a  wink,  a  chance  gesture,  tell  them  all 
that  we  seek  to  conceal  from  them ;  it  suffices  for  them 
in  order  to  learn  it  to  see  that  we  have  designed  to  keep 
it  from  them.  The  nice  turns  of  expression  which  gen- 
teel people  use  among  themselves,  taking  for  granted 
knowledge  which  children  ought  not  to  have,  are  wholly 
out  of  place  with  them ;  but  when  we  truly  honor  their 
simplicity  we  easily  adopt,  in  speaking  to  them,  that  sim- 
plicity of  language  which  befits  them.  There  is  a  certain 
artlessness  of  language  which  becomes  innocence  and  is 
pleasing  to  it ;  this  is  the  true  tone  which  turns  aside  a 
child  from  a  dangerous  curiosity.  By  speaking  to  him  of 
everything  in  simple  terms,  we  do  not  allow  him  to  suspect 
that  there  is  anything  more  to  say  to  him.  In  giving  to 
coarse  words  the  displeasing  ideas  which  befit  them,  we 
smother  the  first  fire  of  the  imagination ;  we  do  not  for- 
bid him  to  pronounce  these  words  and  to  have  these  ideas ; 
but  without  his  thinking  of  it  we  give  him  a  repugnance 
for  recalling  them.  And  from  what  embarrassment  would 
not  this  artless  liberty  save  those  who,  drawing  it  from 
their  own  heart,  always  say  that  which  must  be  said,  and 
always  say  it  just  as  they  have  felt  it ! 

Your  children  read  ;  and  in  their  reading  they  acquire 
knowledge  which  they  would  not  have  had  if  they  had  not 
read.  If  they  study,  the  imagination  becomes  inflamed 
and  sharpened  in  the  silence  of  the  study  chamber.  If 
they  live  in  the  world,  they  hear  a  strange  jargon  and  see 
examples  by  which  they  are  strongly  impressed.  They 
have  been  so  thoroughly  persuaded  that  they  are  men, 
that  in  all  that  men  do  in  their  presence  they  at  once  try 


200 

to  ascertain  how  all  this  may  be  adapted  to  their  use ;  it 
must  necessarily  be  that  all  the  actions  of  others  serve 
them  as  a  model  when  the  judgments  of  others  serve  them 
as  a  law.  The  domestics  who  are  made  to  wait  on  them 
and  who  are  consequently  interested  in  pleasing  them, 
curry  favor  with  them  at  the  expense  of  good  morals ;  and 
giggling  governesses  address  conversation  to  them  at  four 
years  which  the  most  shameless  would  not  dare  to  hold  at 
fifteen.  These  nurses  soon  forget  what  they  have  said, 
but  the  children  never  forget  what  they  have  heard.  Li- 
centious conversation  leads  to  dissolute  manners ;  a  vile 
servant  makes  a  child  debauched,  and  the  secret  of  one 
serves  as  a  guarantee  for  that  of  the  other. 

Would  you  put  order  and  control  into  the  nascent 
passions?  Lengthen  the  time  during  which  they  are  de- 
veloped, to  the  end  that  they  may  have  the  time  to  adjust 
themselves  in  proportion  as  they  come  into  being.  Then 
it  is  not  man  who  ordains  them,  but  Nature  herself,  and 
your  only  care  is  to  let  her  arrange  her  work.  If  your 
pupil  were  alone  you  would  have  nothing  to  do ;  but 
everything  that  surrounds  him  inflames  his  imagination. 
The  torrent  of  prejudices  hurries  him  on,  and  in  order  to 
rescue  him  you  must  push  him  in  a  contrary  direction. 
Feeling  must  restrain  the  imagination,  and  reason  must 
put  to  silence  the  opinions  of  men.  The  source  of  all  the 
passions  is  the  sensibility;  the  imagination  determines 
their  inclination.  Every  being  who  feels  his  relations 
must  be  affected  when  these  relations  are  altered,  and 
when  he  imagines,  or  thinks  he  imagines,  those  which  are 
better  adapted  to  his  nature.  These  are  the  errors  of 
imagination  which  transform  into  vices  the  passions  of  all 
limited  beings,  even  of  angels,  if  they  have  passions ;  for 
they  must  needs  know  the  nature  of  all  beings  in  order  to 
know  what  relations  are  most  consonant  with  their  own. 


EJ1ILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  201 

This,  then,  is  the  sum  of  all  human  wisdom  in  the  use 
of  the  passions  :  1,  to  feel  the  true  relations  of  man  both 
in  the  species  and  in  the  individual ;  2,  to  order  all  the 
affections  of  the  soul  according  to  these  relations.  The 
first  feeling  of  which  a  young  man  who  has  been  carefully 
educated  is  susceptible  is  not  love,  but  friendship.  The 
first  act  of  his  nascent  imagination  is  to  teach  him  that  he 
has  fellow-creatures,  and  the  species  affects  him  before  the 
sex.  Here  is  another  advantage  of  prolonged  innocence ; 
it  is  to  profit  by  the  nascent  sensibility  for  sowing  in  the 
heart  of  the  young  adolescent  the  first  seeds  of  humanity, 
an  advantage  all  the  more  precious  as  it  is  the  only  time 
of  life  when  the  same  cares  can  have  a  real  success. 

Would  you  excite  and  nourish  in  the  heart  of  a  young 
man  the  first  movements  of  the  nascent  sensibility,  and 
turn  his  character  toward  benevolence  and  goodness  ?  Do 
not  cause  pride,  vanity,  and  envy  to  germinate  in  him ; 
through  the  deceptive  image  of  the  happiness  of  men,  do 
not  at  first  expose  to  his  eyes  the  pomp  of  courts,  the 
pageantry  of  palaces,  and  the  attractions  of  the  theatre ; 
do  not  take  him  about  in  social  circles  and  brilliant  assem- 
blies ;  do  not  show  him  the  exterior  of  grand  society  until 
after  having  put  him  in  a  condition  to  form  an  estimate 
of  it  in  itself.  To  show  him  the  world  before  he  knows 
men  is  not  to  form  him,  but  to  corrupt  him ;  it  is  not  to 
instruct  him  but  to  deceive  him. 

Men  are  by  nature  neither  kings,  nor  grandees,  nor 
courtiers,  nor  millionaires ;  all  are  born  naked  and  poor ; 
all  are  subject  to  the  miseries  of  life,  to  chagrins,  evils, 
needs,  and  sorrows  of  every  sort ;  and,  finally,  all  are  con- 
demned to  death.  This  is  what  man  truly  is ;  this  is  that 
from  which  no  mortal  is  exempt.  Begin,  then,  by  study- 
ing that  which  is  most  inseparable  from  human  nature, 
that  which  most  truly  constitutes  humanity.  At  the  age 


202 

of  sixteen  the  adolescent  knows  what  it  is  to  suffer,  for  he 
himself  has  suffered ;  but  he  hardly  knows  that  other 
beings  also  suffer.  To  see  without  feeling  is  not  to  know ; 
and,  as  I  have  said  a  hundred  times,  the  child,  not  imagin- 
ing what  others  feel,  knows  no  ills  save  his  own  ;  but  when 
the  first  development  of  the  senses  enkindles  in  him  the  fire 
of  imagination,  he  begins  to  know  himself  in  his  fellows, 
to  be  affected  by  their  complaints,  and  to  suffer  with  their 
sorrows.  It  is  then  that  the  sad  picture  of  suffering  hu- 
manity ought  to  carry  to  his  heart  the  first  feeling  of  ten- 
derness which  he  has  ever  experienced. 

If  this  period  is  not  easy  to  note  in  your  children, 
whom  do  you  blame  for  it  ?  You  instruct  them  so  early 
to  counterfeit  feeling,  you  teach  them  its  language  so  soon, 
that,  always  speaking  in  the  same  tone,  they  turn  your 
lessons  against  you,  and  leave  you  no  means  to  distinguish 
when,  ceasing  to  pretend,  they  begin  to  feel  what  they  say. 
But  see  my  Emile.  At  the  age  to  which  I  have  conduct- 
ed him  he  has  neither  felt  nor  feigned.  Before  knowing 
what  it  is  to  love,  he  has  said  to  no  one,  /  love  you  very 
much.  No  one  has  prescribed  for  him  the  countenance 
he  is  to  assume  on  entering  the  sick  chamber  of  his  father, 
mother,  or  tutor ;  no  one  has  shown  him  the  art  of  affect- 
ing the  sadness  which  he  does  not  feel.  He  has  not 
feigned  to  weep  over  the  death  of  any  one,  for  he  does  not 
know  what  it  is  to  die.  The  same  insensibility  which  he 
has  in  his  heart  is  also  in  his  manners.  Indifferent  to 
everything  outside  of  himself,  like  all  other  children  he 
takes  an  interest  in  no  one ;  all  that  distinguishes  him  is 
that  he  does  not  wish  to  seem  interested,  and  that  he  is 
not  false  like  them. 

Emile,  having  reflected  little  on  sentient  beings,  will 
be  late  in  knowing  what  it  is  to  suffer  and  die.  Com- 
plaints and  cries  will  begin  to  agitate  his  feelings;  the 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  203 

sight  of  flowing  blood  will  make  him  turn  away  his  eyes ; 
and  the  convulsions  of  a  dying  animal  will  give  him  un- 
told agony  before  he  knows  whence  these  new  emotions 
come  to  him.  If  he  had  remained  stupid  and  barbarous 
he  would  not  have  them ;  if  he  were  wiser,  he  would  know 
their  source.  He  has  already  compared  ideas  too  much 
not  to  suffer,  but  not  enough  to  conceive  what  he  feels. 

Thus  arises  pity,  the  first  related  feeling  which  touches 
the  human  heart  according  to  the  order  of  Nature.  In 
order  to  become  sensible  and  compassionate  the  child  must 
know  that  there  are  beings  similar  to  himself,  who  suffer 
what  he  has  suffered,  who  feel  the  sorrows  which  he  has 
felt,  and  others  of  which  he  can  form  an  idea  as  being  able 
to  feel  them  also.  In  fact,  how  shall  we  allow  ourselves  to 
be  moved  to  pity  if  not  by  transporting  us  outside  of  our- 
selves and  identifying  ourselves  with  the  suffering  animal, 
by  quitting,  so  to  speak,  our  own  being,  in  order  to  assume 
his  ?  We  suffer  only  as  much  as  we  judge  he  suffers ;  and 
it  is  not  in  us,  but  in  him,  that  we  suffer.  Thus  no  one 
becomes  sensible  save  when  his  imagination  is  aroused  and 
begins  to  transport  him  outside  of  himself. 

In  order  to  excite  and  nourish  this  nascent  sensibility, 

J  * 

and  to  guide  it  or  to  follow  it  in  its  natural  course,  what 
have  we  then  to  do  save  to  offer  to  the  young  man  objects 
on  which  may  be  exerted  the  expansive  force  of  his  heart, 
which  will  increase  it  and  extend  it  over  other  beings, 
which  will  ever  call  "his  attention  away  from  himself ;  and 
to  avoid  with  care  those  objects  which  contract  and  con- 
centrate the  human  heart  and  compress  the  springs  of 
selfishness  ?  In  other  terms,  what  can  we  do  save  to  excite 
in  him  goodness,  humanity,  commiseration,  beneficence, 
and  all  the  attractive  and  gentle  passions  which  naturally 
please  men,  and  to  prevent  the  rise  of  envy,  covetousness, 
hatred,  and  all  the  repulsive  and  cruel  passions  which  ren- 


204  SMILE. 

der,  so  to  speak,  the  sensibility  not  only  null,  but  negative, 
and  are  the  torment  of  him  who  experiences  them  ? 

Do  not  accustom  your  pupil  to  look  down  from  the 
summit  of  his  glory  on  the  afflictions  of  the  unfortunate 
and  the  toils  of  the  wretched ;  and  never  hope  to  teach 
him  to  pity  them  if  he  considers  them  as  strangers  to 
himself.  Make  him  clearly  understand  that  the  lot  of 
these  unfortunates  may  be  his  own,  that  all  their  misfort- 
unes lie  before  him,  and  that  a  thousand  unforeseen  and 
inevitable  events  may  at  any  moment  plunge  him  into 
them.  Teach  him  to  count  neither  upon  birth,  nor  upon 
health,  nor  upon  riches ;  show  him  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
fortune ;  search  out  examples  for  him,  always  too  frequent, 
of  men  who  from  a  higher  station  than  his  own  have  fallen 
below  that  of  these  unfortunates.  Whether  this  is  through 
their  fault  or  not  is  not  now  in  question ;  only,  does  he 
even  know  what  is  meant  by  fault?  Never  encroach 
upon  the  order  of  his  knowledge  and  never  enlighten  him 
save  through  knowledge  which  is  within  his  comprehen- 
sion ;  he  need  not  be  very  wise  in  order  to  know  that  no 
human  prudence  can  determine  whether  he  shall  be  living 
or  dying  within  an  hour ;  whether  the  pains  of  colic  shall 
not  make  him  grind  his  teeth  before  night ;  whether  in  a 
month  he  shall  be  rich  or  poor ;  or  whether  within  a  year, 
perhaps,  he  shall  not  be  rowing  in  the  galleys  of  Algiers. 
Above  all,  do  not  tell  him  all  this  coldly,  as  you  would  his 
catechism ;  but  let  him  see  and  feel  human  calamities. 
Disturb  and  affright  his  imagination  with  the  perils  by 
which  every  man  is  ceaselessly  surrounded ;  let  him  see 
about  him  all  these  abysses,  and  as  he  hears  you  describe 
them,  let  him  cling  to  you  for  fear  of  falling  into  them. 
We  shall  make  him  timid  and  cowardly,  you  will  say.  We 
shall  see  in  the  sequel ;  but  for  the  present  let  us  begin 
by  making  him  human ;  this  is  what  chiefly  concerns  us. 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  205 

It  is  at  this  age  that  begins  with  a  skillful  teacher  the 
real  function  of  the  observer  and  philosopher  who  knows 
the  art  of  exploring  the  heart  while  attempting  to  mold 
it.  While  the  young  man  does  not  yet  think  of  disguising 
himself,  and  has  not  yet  learned  to  do  it,  at  each  new 
object  which  we  present  to  him  we  see  in  his  manner,  in 
his  eyes,  and  in  his  movements,  the  impression  which  he 
receives  from  it ;  we  see  on  his  face  all  the  emotions  of 
his  soul ;  and  by  watching  them  we  come  to  foresee  them, 
and  finally  to  direct  them. 

I  do  not  know  whether,  through  not  having  learned  to 
imitate  conventional  manners  and  to  feign  sentiments 
which  he  does  not  have,  my  young  man  will  be  the  less 
agreeable ;  but  with  this  we  are  not  concerned  in  this 
place.  I  know  only  that  he  will  be  more  affectionate,  and 
I  find  it  very  difficult  to  believe  that  he  who  loves  only 
himself  can  disguise  himself  so  well  as  to  be  as  pleasing 
as  he  who  draws  from  his  attachment  for  others  a  new 
feeling  of  happiness.  But  as  to  this  feeling  itself,  I 
think  I  have  said  enough  to  guide  a  reasonable  reader 
on  this  point,  and  to  show  that  I  have  not  contradicted 
myself. 

I  return  to  my  method,  and  say :  When  the  critical  age 
approaches,  offer  to  young  people  spectacles  which  hold 
them  in  check,  and  not  those  which  excite  them;  divert 
their  nascent  imagination  by  objects  which,  far  from  in- 
flaming their  senses,  repress  their  activity.  Kemove  them 
from  large  cities,  where  the  attire  and  immodesty  of  wom- 
en hasten  and  anticipate  the  lessons  of  nature,  and  where 
everything  presents  to  their  eyes  pleasures  which  they 
ought  not  to  know  until  they  can  choose  them  wisely. 
Take  them  to  their  early  homes,  where  the  simplicity  of 
country  life  alloAvs  the  passions  of  their  age  to  be  devel- 
oped less  rapidly ;  or,  if  their  taste  for  the  arts  still  attaches 


206  SMILE. 

them  to  the  city,  prevent  in  them  through  this  very  taste 
an  idleness  that  is  full  of  danger.  Select  with  care  their 
company,  their  occupations,  and  their  pleasures;  show 
them  only  pictures  which  are  touching  but  modest,  which 
move  without  seducing,  and  which  nourish  their  sensibility 
without  exciting  their  senses.  Eecollect  also  that  there 
are  everywhere  some  excesses  to  fear,  and  that  immoder- 
ate passions  always  do  more  harm  than  we  are  willing  to 
encounter.  It  is  not  proposed  to  make  of  your  pupil  a 
nurse  or  a  brother  of  charity,  to  afflict  his  sight  by  con- 
tinual objects  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  to  conduct  him 
from  infirmary  to  infirmary,  from  hospital  to  hospital, 
and  from  La  Greve  *  to  the  prisons ;  he  must  be  touched 
but  not  hardened  by  the  sight  of  human  suffering.  Long 
struck  by  the  same  sights,  we  no  longer  feel  their  impres- 
sions. Habit  accustoms  us  to  everything,  and  what  we 
see  too  often  we  no  longer  imagine ;  and  it  is  only  the 
imagination  which  makes  us  feel  the  ills  of  others.  It  is 
thus  that,  through  seeing  people  suffer  and  die,  priests 
and  physicians  become  unpityiug.  Then  let  your  pupil 
know  the  lot  of  man  and  the  miseries  of  his  fellows,  but 
do  not  let  him  too  often  be  the  witness  of  them.  One 
single  object,  well  chpsen  and  exhibited  in  a  suitable  light, 
will  give  him  tender  reflections  for  a  month.  It  is  not  so 
much  what  he  sees  as  his  reflection  on  what  he  has  seen 
that  determines  the  judgment  which  he  derives  from  it ; 
and  the  durable  impressions  which  he  receives  from  an 
object  come  less  from  the  object  itself  than  from  the 
point  of  view  under  which  it  is  brought  to  his  recollection. 
It  is  thus  that,  by  carefully  managing  these  examples, 
lessons,  and  images,  you  will  for  a  long  time  blunt  the 

*  A  public  square  in  Paris  where  executions  formerly  took  place. 
-(P.) 


E"MILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  207 

edge  of  the  senses  and  will  divert  nature  by  following  her 
own  direction. 

Teacher,  be  sparing  of  words ;  but  learn  to  make  a 
jhoice  of  times,  places,  and  persons ;  then  give  all  your 
lessons  by  examples,  and  you  may  be  sure  of  their  effect. 

Teachers  complain  that  the  ardor  of  this  age  renders 
the  young  unruly,  and  I  see  that  this  is  true.  Is  not  this 
their  own  fault?  As  soon  as  they  have  allowed  this 
ardor  to  take  its  course  through  the  senses,  are  they  igno- 
rant that  they  no  longer  can  give  it  another?  Will  the 
long  and  lifeless  sermons  of  a  pedant  efface  from  the  mind 
of  his  pupil  the  image  of  the  pleasures  which  he  has  con- 
ceived ?  Will  they  banish  from  his  heart  the  desires  which 
torment  him  ?  Will  they  allay  the  ardor  of  a  tempera- 
ment whose  use  he  knows?  Will  he  not  be  irritated  at 
the  obstacles  which  oppose  the  only  happiness  of  which  he 
has  an  idea  ?  And  in  the  harsh  law  which  we  prescribe 
for  him  without  being  able  to  make  him  understand  it, 
what  will  he  see  except  the  caprice  and  hatred  of  a  man 
who  is  trying  to  torment  him?  Is  it  strange  that  he 
rebels,  and  hates  him  in  his  turn  ? 

I  well  understand  that  by  making  ourselves  compliant 
we  can  make  ourselves  more  endurable  and  thus  preserve 
an  apparent  authority.  But  I  fail  to  see  what  purpose 
is  served  by  the  authority  which  is  preserved  over  a  pupil 
only  by  fomenting  the  vices  which  it  ought  to  repress.  It 
is  as  though  a  horseman,  in  order  to  pacify  a  mettlesome 
horse,  should  make  him  jump  over  a  precipice. 

So  far  is  the  ardor  of  youth  from  being  an  obstacle  to 
education,  that  it  is  through  it  that  education  is  com- 
pleted and  perfected ;  it  is  this  ardor  which  gives  you  a 
hold  on  the  heart  of  a  young  man  when  he  ceases  to  be 
less  strong  than  you  are.  His  first  affections  are  the  reins 
with  which  you  direct  all  his  movements ;  he  was  free,  but 


208 

I  see  him  brought  under  subjection.  As  long  as  he  loved 
nothing,  he  depended  only  on  himself  and  his  needs ;  but 
the  moment  he  loves,  he  depends  on  his  attachments. 
Thus  are  formed  the  first  bonds  which  unite  him  to 
his  species.  By  directing  his  nascent  sensibility  along  this 
line,  do  not  think  that  it  will  at  first  embrace  all  men,  and 
that  this  term  human  species  will  signify  anything  to  him. 
No,  this  sensibility  will  be  limited  at  first  to  his  fellows ; 
and  these  will  not  be  for  him  unknown  beings,  but  those 
with  whom  he  has  relations ;  those  whom  habit  has  made 
dear  or  necessary  to  him ;  those  whom  he  sees  evidently 
having  with  him  common  ways  of  thinking  and  feeling ; 
those  whom  he  sees  exposed  to  the  pains  he  has  suffered, 
and  sensible  to  the  pleasures  he  has  tasted ;  in  a  word, 
those  whom  the  more  manifest  identity  of  nature  gives 
him  a  greater  disposition  to  love.  It  will  not  be  until 
after  having  cultivated  his  nature  in  a  thousand  ways,  and 
after  many  reflections  on  his  own  feelings  and  on  those 
which  he  observes  in  others,  that  he  will  be  able  to  gen- 
eralize his  individual  notions  under  the  abstract  idea  of 
humanity,  and  unite  with  his  particular  affections  those 
which  may  identify  him  with  his  species. 

In  becoming  capable  of  attachment  he  becomes  sen- 
sible of  the  attachment  of  others,  and  in  the  same  way  at- 
tentive to  the  symbols  of  this  attachment.  Do  you  see 
what  a  new  empire  you  have  acquired  over  him?  how 
many  chains  you  have  thrown  around  his  heart  before  he 
perceived  them  !  What  will  be  his  feelings  when,  opening 
his  eyes  upon  himself,  he  shall  see  what  you  have  done  for 
him,  and  when  he  shall  be  able  to  compare  himself  with 
other  young  men  of  his  age  and  to  compare  you  with 
other  tutors  ?  I  say,  when  he  shall  see  it.  But  beware  of 
saying  this  to  him ;  for  if  you  tell  him  this,  he  will  no 
longer  see  it.  If  you  exact  obedience  of  him  in  return  for 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  209 

the  good  offices  you  have  done  him,  he  will  think  that  you 
have  overreached  him.  He  will  say  to  himself,  that  in 
pretending  to  oblige  him  gratuitously  you  have  presumed 
to  charge  him  with  a  debt,  and  to  bind  him  by  a  contract 
to  which  he  has  not  consented.  It  is  in  vain  for  you  to 
rejoin,  that  what  you  have  required  of  him  is  only  for  his 
own  good ;  but  after  all  you  make  a  requirement,  and  you 
do  it  by  virtue  of  what  you  have  done  without  his  con- 
sent. When  a  poor  wretch  takes  money  which  some  one 
pretends  to  give  him,  and  finds  himself  enlisted  without 
his  consent,  you  denounce  the  injustice.  Are  you  not  still 
more  unjust  when  you  demand  of  your  pupil  pay  for  the 
services  which  he  has  not  accepted  ? 

If  gratitude  is  a  natural  sentiment,  and  you  have  not 
destroyed  its  effect  by  your  own  fault,  be  assured  that 
your  pupil,  beginning  to  see  the  value  of  your  services, 
will  be  sensible  of  them  provided  you  yourself  have  not 
put  a  price  on  them ;  and  that  they  will  give  you  an  au- 
thority over  his  heart  which  nothing  will  be  able  to  de- 
stroy. But,  before  being  well  assured  of  this  advantage, 
guard  against  losing  it  by  magnifying  yourself  in  his 
sight.  To  extol  your  services  to  him  is  to  make  them  in- 
supportable to  him ;  to  forget  them  is  to  make  him  re- 
member them.  Until  it  is  time  to  treat  him  as  a  man, 
let  there  never  be  a  question  of  what  he  owes  you,  but  of 
what  he  owes  himself.  In  order  to  render  him  docile, 
leave  him  in  complete  liberty ;  conceal  yourself  in  order 
that  he  may  look  for  you ;  elevate  his  soul  to  the  noble 
sentiment  of  gratitude  by  never  speaking  to  him  save  of 
his  own  interest.  1  have  not  wished  to  have  him  told 
that  what  was  done  was  for  his  good,  before  he  was  in  a 
condition  to  understand  it ;  in  that  remark  he  would  have 
seen  only  your  dependence,  and  would  only  have  taken 
you  for  his  servant.  But  now  that  he  begins  to  feel  what 


210  6MILE. 

it  is  to  love,  he  also  feels  what  a  kindly,  benignant  bond 
may  unite  a  man  to  what  he  loves ;  and  in  the  zeal  which 
makes  you  devote  yourself  to  him  without  respite,  he  no 
longer  sees  the  attachment  of  a  slave,  but  the  affection  of 
a  friend. 

We  finally  enter  upon  the  moral  order,  and  come  to 
take  a  second  step  in  manly  culture.  If  this  were  the 
place  for  it,  I  would  try  to  show  how,  from  the  first 
movements  of  the  heart,  arise  the  first  utterances  of  the 
conscience ;  and  how,  from  the  feelings  of  love  and  hate, 
spring  the  first  notions  of  good  and  evil.  I  would  make 
it  seem  that  justice  and  goodness  are  not  merely  abstract 
terms,  pure  moral  creations  formed  by  the  understanding, 
but  real  affections  of  the  soul  enlightened  by  reason,  and 
which  are  but  a  progress  ordained  by  our  primitive  affec- 
tions ;  that  by  the  reason  alone,  independently  of  the  con- 
science, we  can  not  establish  any  natural  law. ;  and  that 
the  whole  law  of  Nature  is  but  a  delusion  if  it  is  not 
founded  on  a  need  natural  to  the  human  heart.  But  I  do 
not  think  I  am  here  required  to  write  dissertations  on 
metaphysics  and  ethics,  nor  courses  of  study  of  any  sort ; 
it  is  sufficient  for  me  to  mark  the  order  and  progress  of  our 
feelings  and  knowledge  with  respect  to  our  constitution. 
Others  will  perhaps  demonstrate  what  I  have  only  indi- 
cated. 

My  Emile  having  thus  far  regarded  only  himself,  the 
first  look  which  he  throws  upon  his  fellows  leads  him  to 
compare  himself  with  them,  and  the  first  feeling  which 
this  comparison  excites  within  him  is  to  desire  the  first 
place.  This  is  the  point  at  which  the  love  of  self  changes 
into  self-love,  and  where  begin  to  arise  all  the  passions 
which  depend  upon  it.  But  in  order  to  decide  whether 
those  of  his  passions  which  shall  dominate  in  his  char- 
acter shall  be  humane  and  beneficent,  or  cruel  and  malev- 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  211 

olent,  whether  they  shall  be  passions  of  benevolence  and 
commiseration,  or  of  envy  and  covetousness,  it  is  necessary 
to  know  to  what  place  he  will  aspire  among  men,  and  what 
kind  of  obstacles  he  will  think  he  has  to  overcome  in 
order  to  reach  the  one  which  he  wishes  to  occupy. 

In  order  to  guide  him  in  this  investigation,  after  hav- 
ing shown  him  men  by  the  accidents  common  to  the 
species,  we  must  now  show  them  to  him  by  their  differ- 
ences. Here  comes  the  measurement  of  natural  and 
civil  inequality,  and  the  picture  of  the  whole  social  order. 

Society  must  be  studied  through  men,  and  men 
through  society ;  those  who  would  treat  politics  and 
morals  separately  will  never  understand  anything  of 
either. 

This  is  now  the  study  that  concerns  us ;  but  in  order 
to  pursue  it  properly  we  must  begin  by  knowing  the  hu- 
man heart. 

If  it  were  proposed  merely  to  show  to  young  people 
man  through  his  mask,  we  should  not  need  to  show  him 
to  them — they  will  always  see  him  more  than  enough ; 
but  since  the  mask  is  not  the  man,  and  it  is  not  necessary 
that  its  varnish  delude  them,  in  painting  men  for  them 
paint  them  just  as  they  are,  not  to  the  end  that  young 
people  may  hate  them,  but  that  they  may  pity  them  and 
not  wish  to  resemble  them.  This,  to  my  mind,  is  the 
rational  feeling  which  man  can  have  respecting  his  species. 

In  this  view  it  is  important  in  this  place  to  take  a 
route  opposite  that  which  we  have  hitherto  followed,  and 
to  instruct  the  young  man  through  the  experience  of  oth- 
ers rather  than  through  his  own.  If  men  deceive  him,  he 
will  hate  them ;  if,  respected  by  them,  he  sees  them  de- 
ceive one  another,  he  will  pity  them.  "  The  spectacle  of 
the  world,"  said  Pythagoras, "  resembles  that  of  the  Olym- 
pic games :  some  keep  shop  there,  and  think  only  of  theit 
17 


212  EMILE. 

profits ;  others  pay  there  with  their  persons  and  seek  glory; 
still  others  are  content  to  see  the  games,  and  these  are  not 
the  worst." 

I  would  have  the  associates  of  the  young  man  chosen 
in  such  a  way  that  he  may  think  well  of  those  who  live 
with  him ;  and  that  he  be  taught  to  know  the  world  so 
well  that  he  may  think  ill  of  all  that  is  done  in  it.  Let 
him  know  that  man  is  naturally  good  ;  let  him  feel  it ;  let 
him  judge  of  his  neighbors  by  himself ;  but  let  him  see 
how  society  depraves  and  perverts  men ;  let  him  find  in 
their  prejudices  the  source  of  all  their  vices ;  let  him  be 
inclined  to  esteem  each  individual,  but  let  him  despise  the 
multitude ;  let  him  see  that  all  men  wear  nearly  the  same 
mask,  but  let  him  know  also  that  there  are  faces  more 
beautiful  than  the  mask  which  covers  them. 

This  method,  it  must  be  admitted,  has  its  disadvan- 
tages, and  is  not  easy  in  practice ;  for  if  he  becomes  an 
observer  too  early,  if  you  train  him  in  watching  the 
actions  of  others  too  closely,  you  will  make  him  slander- 
ous and  satirical,  decisive  and  prompt  in  judging ;  he  will 
take  an  odious  pleasure  in  looking  everywhere  for  sinister 
interpretations,  and  in  seeing  in  the  good  nothing  what- 
ever that  is  good.  You  will  accustom  him,  at  least,  to  the 
sight  of  vice ;  and,  by  seeing  wrong-doers  without  horror, 
he  will  accustom  himself  to  see  the  unfortunate  without 
pity.  •  Very  soon  the  general  perversity  will  serve  him 
bss  as  a  lesson  than  as  an  excuse ;  and  he  will  say  to 
himself  that  if  men  are  of  this  sort  he  need  not  wish  to 
be  otherwise. 

In  order  to  remove  this  obstacle  and  to  place  the 
human  heart  within  the  reach  of  our  pupil  without  the 
risk  of  spoiling  his  own,  I  would  show  him  men  at  a  dis- 
tance ;  show  them  to  him  in  other  times  or  in  other  places, 
and  in  such  a  way  that  he  may  see  the  stage  without  ever 


tfMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  213 

being  an  actor  on  it.  This  is  the  time  to  begin  history. 
It  is  through  this  study  that  he  will  read  hearts  without 
philosophical  lectures ;  it  is  through  it  that  he  will  see 
them  as  a  simple  spectator,  without  interest  and  without 
passion,  as  their  judge  and  not  as  their  accomplice  or  their 
accuser. 

In  order  to  know  men  we  must  see  them  act.  In  the 
world  we  hear  them  speak  ;  they  make  a  show  of  words 
and  conceal  their  actions ;  but  in  history  they  are  unveiled, 
and  we  judge  them  by  their  deeds.  Even  their  sayings 
aid  in  appreciating  them ;  for,  comparing  what  they  do 
with  what  they  say,  we  see  at  once  what  they  are  and 
what  they  would  seem  to  be ;  the  more  they  disguise 
themselves  the  better  we  know  them. 

Unhappily  this  study  has  its  dangers  'and  its  incon- 
veniences of  more  than  one  kind.  It  is  difficult  to  place 
ourselves  at  a  point  of  view  from  which  we  can  judge  our 
fellow-beings  with  equity.  One  of  the  great  vices  of  his- 
tory is  that  it  portrays  men  much  more  through  their  bad 
qualities  than  through  their  good.  As  it  is  interesting 
only  as  it  describes  revolutions  and  catastrophes,  so  long 
as  a  people  grows  and  prospers  in  the  calm  of  a  peaceful 
government  it  says  nothing  of  it ;  history  begins  to  speak 
of  a  people  only  when,  no  longer  able  to  suffice  for  itself, 
it  takes  part  in  the  affairs  of  its  neighbors  or  allows  them 
to  take  part  in  its  own.  History  makes  a  people  illus- 
trious only  when  it  is  already  in  its  decline.  All  our  his- 
tories begin  where  they  ought  to  end.  We  have  very 
exact  histories  of  peoples  which  are  in  a  state  of  decay. 
What  we  lack  is  an  account  of  peoples  which  are  growing ; 
they  are  so  happy  and  so  wise  that  history  has  nothing  to 
say  of  them ;  and,  in  fact,  we  see  even  in  our  day  that  the 
best  conducted  governments  are  those  of  which  the  least 
is  said.  We  know,  then,  only  the  bad ;  the  good  hardly 


21 4r  tiMILE. 

forms  an  epoch.  It  is  only  the  wicked  who  attain  celeb- 
rity ;  the  good  are  forgotten  or  turned  to  ridicule ;  and 
this  is  how  history,  like  philosophy,  ever  calumniates  the 
human  race.  Moreover,  the  facts  described  in  history  are 
very  far  from  being  the  exact  portraiture  of  facts  as  they 
really  happened ;  they  change  form  in  the  head  of  the 
historian ;  they  are  molded  in  accordance  with  his  interest 
and  take  the  tint  of  his  prejudices.  Who  is  there  who 
can  place  the  reader  at  exactly  the  right  spot  on  the  stage 
to  see  an  event  just  as  it  happened  ?  Ignorance  or  par- 
tiality disguises  everything.  Without  altering  even  one 
historical  fact,  by  amplifying  or  retrenching  circumstances 
which  are  connected  with  it,  how  many  different  aspects 
can  be  given  to  it ! 

The  worst  historians  for  a  young  man  are  those  who 
judge.  Facts  !  facts  !  Supply  him  with  these,  and  let 
him  form  his  own  judgments.  It  is  in  this  way  that  he 
learns  to  know  men.  If  the  author's  judgment  is  always 
guiding  him,  he  does  no  more  than  see  through  the  eye 
of  another ;  and  when  this  eye  fails  him  he  no  longer  sees 
anything. 

Thucydides,  in  my  opinion,  is  the  true  model  for  his- 
torians. He  relates  facts  without  judging  them,  but  he 
omits  none  of  the  circumstances  necessary  for  enabling  us 
to  judge  of  them  ourselves.  He  places  all  he  relates  under 
the  eye  of  the  reader ;  and,  far  from  interposing  between 
events  and  readers,  he  steps  aside,  and  we  no  longer 
think  we  are  reading,  but  seeing.  Unfortunately,  he  is 
always  speaking  of  .wars,  and  we  see  scarcely  anything  in 
his  writings  save  what  is  of  all  the  least  instructive — 
namely,  combats.  The  Retreat  of  the  Ten  Thousand  and 
Caesar's  Commentaries  have  nearly  the  same  wisdom  and 
the  same  fault.  The  good  Herodotus,  without  portraits, 
without  maxims,  but  flowing,  artless,  and  full  of  details 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  215 

the  most  capable  of  interesting  and  pleasing,  would  per- 
haps be  the  best  of  historians  if  these  very  details  did  not; 
often  degenerate  into  puerile  simplicities,  better  adapted 
to  spoil  the  taste  of  youth  than  to  form  it.  Discernment 
is  already  necessary  for  reading  him.  I  say  nothing  of 
Livy — his  turn  will  come ;  but  he  is  a  politician,  a  rhetori- 
cian, and  everything  not  adapted  to  the  age  of  our  pupil. 

History,  in  general,  is  defective  in  that  it  registers 
only  the  obvious  and  marked  facts  which  can  be  fixed  by 
names,  places,  and  dates;  but  the  slow  and  progressive 
causes  of  these  facts,  which  can  not  be  marked  out  in  the 
same  way,  always  remain  unknown.  We  often  find  in  a 
battle  gained  or  lost  the  reason  of  a  revolution  which, 
even  before  that  battle,  had  become  inevitable.  War  does 
hardly  more  than  make  manifest  events  already  deter- 
mined by  moral  causes  which  the  historians  are  rarely  able 
t j  see. 

The  philosophic  spirit  has  turned  in  this  direction 
the  reflections  of  several  writers  of  this  century ;  but  I 
doubt  whether  truth  has  gained-  by  their  labors.  The 
fury  of  systems  having  taken  possession  of  them  all, 
nobody  attempts  to  see  things  as  they  are,  but  only  so  far 
as  they  are  in  accord  with  his  system. 

Add  to  all  these  reflections  that  history  exhibits  actions 
much  more  than  men,  because  it  grasps  the  latter  only 
at  certain  chosen  moments  and  on  dress  parade  ;  it  brings 
to  view  only  the  man  in  public  who  has  dressed  himself 
up  to  be  seen  ;  it  does  not  follow  him  into  his  house,  his 
study,  his  family,  and  into  the  society  of  his  friends ;  it 
portrays  him  only  when  he  is  keeping  up  his  dignity; 
and  it  is  more  his  dress  than  his  person  that  history 
paints. 

I  would  much  prefer  the  reading  of  individual  lives  for 
beginning  the  study  of  the  human  heart ;  for  then  it  is  in 


216  tiMILE. 

vain  for  the  man  to  conceal  himself,  for  the  historian  pur- 
sues him  everywhere  ;  he  leaves  him  no  moment  of  respite, 
no  corner  where  he  may  avoid  the  piercing  eye  of  a  spec- 
tator ;  and  it  is  when  we  think  ourselves  the  best  con- 
cealed that  the  author  makes  us  best  known.  "The 
writers  of  lives  who  please  me  most,"  says  Montaigne, "  are 
those  who  take  more  pleasure  in  counsels  than  in  events, 
more  in  what  proceeds  from  within  than  in  what  comes 
from  without ;  and  this  is  why  in  all  respects  my  man  is 
Plutarch."  * 

Plutarch  excels  by  these  very  details  on  which  we  dare 
enter  no  further.  He  has  an  inimitable  grace  in  painting 
great  men  in  little  things ;  he  is  so  happy  in  the  choice  of 
his  strokes  that  often  a  word,  a  smile,  or  a  gesture  suffices 
him  for  characterizing  his  hero.  There  are  very  few  peo- 
ple in  a  condition  to  see  the  effects  which  reading,  thus 
directed,  may  produce  on  the  wholly  inexperienced  mind 
of  a  young  man.  Weighed  down  by  books  from  our 
childhood  and  accustomed  to  read  without  thinking,  what 
we  read  impresses  us  so  much  the  less,  as,  already  carry- 
ing within  us  the  passions  and  the  prejudices  which  fill 
the  history  and  the  lives  of  men,  all  that  they  do  seems 
to  us  natural,  because  we  have  departed  from  nature  and 
judge  of  others  by  ourselves.  But  let  us  picture  to  ourselves 
a  young  man  educated  according  to  my  precepts ;  let  us 
imagine  my  Emile,  for  whom  eighteen  years  of  assiduous 
care  have  had  no  other  purpose  than  to  preserve  an  un- 
impaired judgment  and  a  sound  heart — let  us  imagine  him, 
at  the  raising  of  the  curtain,  gazing  for  the  first  time  on 
the  stage  of  the  world,  or  rather  placed  back  of  the 
theatre,  seeing  the  actors  as  they  take  on  or  put  off 
their  attire,  and  counting  the  ropes  and  pulleys  with 

*  Book  ii,  chap.  x. 


EfflLE  FROM  FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  217 

which  gross  prestige  abuses  the  eyes  of  the  spectators. 
Very  soon  his  first  surprise  will  be  succeeded  by  emotions 
of  shame  and  disdain  for  his  species ;  he  will  be  indig- 
nant at  thus  seeing  the  whole  human  race,  its  own  dupe, 
stooping  to  these  puerile  amusements ;  he  will  be  afflicted 
to  see  his  brothers  tearing  one  another  in  pieces  for  phan- 
toms and  turning  themselves  into  ferocious  beasts  for  not 
having  been  able  to  content  themselves  with  being  men. 

Certainly,  with  the  natural  disposition  of  the  pupil, 
with  however  little  prudence  the  teacher  may  select  his 
course  of  reading,  and  however  little  he  may  put  this 
youth  in  the  way  of  reflections  to  be  drawn  from  it,  this 
exercise  will  be  for  him  a  course  in  practical  philosophy, 
better  surely,  and  better  conceived,  than  all  the  vain  spec- 
ulations with  which  the  minds  of  young  men  in  our 
schools  are  perplexed. 

One  step  more  and  we  touch  the  goal.  Self-love  is  a 
useful  but  dangerous  instrument ;  it  often  wounds  the 
hand  which  uses  it,  and  rarely  does  good  without  doing 
evil.  Emile,  on  considering  his  rank  in  the  human  spe- 
cies, and  seeing  himself  so  happily  situated  there,  will  be 
tempted  to  do  honor  to  his  own  reason  for  the  work  of 
yours,  and  to  attribute  to  his  own  merit  the  effect  of  his 
good  fortune.  He  will  say  to  himself,  I  am  wise,  and  men 
are  fools.  While  pitying  them  he  will  despise  them,  and 
while  felicitating  himself  he  will  esteem  himself  the  more ; 
and  feeling  himself  happier  than  they  are,  he  will  fancy 
that  he  is  more  worthy  of  being  so.  This  is  the  error  to  be 
feared  most,  because  it  is  the  most  difficult  to  destroy.  If 
he  were  to  remain  in  this  condition,  he  would  have  gained 
little  from  all  our  services ;  and  if  I  were  to  choose,  I  do 
not  know  whether  I  should  not  much  more  prefer  the 
illusion  of  prejudices  than  that  of  pride. 

There  is  no  folly,  save  vanity,  of  which  we  can  not  cure 


218  EMILE. 

a  man  who  is  not  a  fool.  Nothing  corrects  the  latter  save 
experience — if,  indeed,  anything  can  correct  it.  At  its 
birth,  at  least,  we  may  prevent  it  from  growing.  Do  not, 
then,  waste  your  strength  in  fine  arguments  to  prove  to  a 
youth  that  he  is  a  man  like  others,  and  subject  to  the 
same  weaknesses.  Make  him  feel  this,  or  he  will  never 
know  it.  Here,  again,  is  an  exception  to  my  own  rule  ; 
it  is  that  of  voluntarily  exposing  my  pupil  to  all  the  ac- 
cidents which  may  prove  to  him  that  he  is  not  wiser  than 
we  are.  I  would  let  flatterers  take  every  advantage  of  him 
they  could.  If  giddy  heads  were  to  entice  him  into  any 
extravagance,  I  would  let  him  run  the  risk  of  it.  If 
sharpers  were  to  beset  him  at  play,  I  would  hand  him 
over  to  them  to  be  made  their  dupe.  I  would  allow  him 
to  be  flattered,  plucked,  and  robbed  by  them  ;  and  when, 
having  stripped  him  of  everything,  they  were  to  finish  by 
deriding  him,  I  would  still  thank  them  in  his  presence 
for  the  lessons  which  they  had  been  so  good  as  to  give 
him.  The  only  snares  from  which  I  would  carefully 
guard  him  would  be  those  of  courtesans.  The  only  con- 
siderations I  would  have  for  him  would  be  to  share  all  the 
dangers  which  I  had  allowed  him  to  incur  and  all  the 
affronts  which  I  had  allowed  him  to  receive.  I  would 
endure  everything  in  silence,  without  complaint  or  re- 
proach, and  without  ever  saying  to  him  a  single  word  on 
the  subject ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  with  this  discretion 
well  maintained,  all  that  he  will  have  seen  me  suffer  for 
him  will  make  more  impression  on  his  heart  than  what  he 
will  have  suffered  himself. 

I  can  not  here  avoid  exposing  the  false  dignity  of 
tutors  who,  in  order  foolishly  to  play  the  sage,  underrate 
their  pupils,  affect  to  treat  them  always  as  children,  and 
always  to  distinguish  themselves  from  them  in  whatever 
they  make  them  do.  Far  from  disparaging  in  this  way 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  219 

their  young  spirits,  spare  nothing  in  order  to  exalt  their 
souls ;  make  of  them  your  equals  in  order  that  they  may 
become  such ;  and  if  they  can  not  yet  ascend  to  you,  de- 
s«end  to  them  without  shame  and  without  scruple. 

This  is  not  saying  that  the  pupil  ought  to  suppose  in 
his  teacher  an  intelligence  as  limited  as  his  own,  and  the 
same  facility  for  allowing  himself  to  be  deluded.  This 
opinion  is  good  for  a  child,  who,  not  knowing  how  to  see 
anything  nor  to  make  any  comparisons,  puts  all  the  world 
within  his  reach,  and  gives  his  confidence  only  to  those 
who  can  actually  put  themselves  there.  But  a  young  man 
of  Emile's  age,  and  as  sensible  as  he  is,  is  no  longer  foolish 
enough  to  be  imposed  on  in  this  way,  and  it  would  not  be 
well  if  he  were.  The  confidence  which  he  ought  to  have 
in  his  tutor  is  of  another  sort ;  it  should  be  based  on  the 
authority  of  reason,  on  superior  intelligence,  and  on  ad- 
vantages which  the  young  man  is  in  a  condition  to  ap- 
preciate and  of  whose  utility  he  is  sensible.  Long  experi- 
ence has  convinced  him  that  he  is  loved  by  his  guide ;  that 
his  guide  is  a  wise  and  enlightened  man,  who,  wishing 
his  happiness,  knows  what  can  procure  it  for  him.  He 
ought  to  know  that  for  his  own  interest  it  is  best  for  him 
to  listen  to  his  advice.  Now,  if  the  master  were  to  allow 
himself  to  be  deceived  like  the  disciple,  he  would  lose  the 
right  to  exact  deference  from  him  and  to  give  him  in- 
struction. Still  less  ought  the  pupil  to  suppose  that  his 
teacher  purposely  allows  him  to  fall  into  snares,  and  that 
he  lays  ambushes  for  his  simplicity.  What  must  be  done, 
then,  in  order  to  shun  at  the  same  time  these  two  difficul- 
ties ?  That  which  is  the  best  and  the  most  natural :  Be 
simple  and  true  as  he  is ;  warn  him  of  the  dangers  to 
which  he  is  exposed  ;  show  them  to  him  clearly,  plainly, 
without  exaggeration  or  temper,  without  pedantic  display, 
and  especially  without  giving  him  your  advice  for  com- 


220  EMILE. 

mands  until  they  become  such,  and  this  imperious  tone  is 
absolutely  necessary.  Does  he  hold  out  after  this,  as  he 
will  often  do  ?  Then  say  no  more  to  him ;  allow  him  his 
liberty,  follow  him,  imitate  him,  cheerfully  and  frankly 
iinbend  yourself,  and,  if  it  is  possible,  amuse  yourself  as 
much  as  he  does.  If  the  consequences  become  too  serious, 
you  are  always  on  hand  to  arrest  them ;  and  yet,  how 
thoroughly  must  the  young  man,  a  witness  of  your  fore- 
sight and  of  your  kindness,  be  at  the  same  time  impressed 
by  one  and  touched  by  the  other !  All  his  faults  are  so 
many  bonds  which  he  furnishes  you  for  holding  him  in 
check  when  it  becomes  necessary.  •  Now,  that  which  here 
constitutes  the  greatest  art  of  the  teacher  is  to  bring  for- 
ward the  occasions  and  to  direct  the  exhortations  in  such 
a  way  as  to  know  in  advance  when  the  young  man  will 
yield  and  when  he.  will  hold  out,  in  order  to  surround 
him  everywhere  with  the  lessons  of  experience  without 
ever  exposing  him  to  too  great  dangers. 

Warn  him  of  his  faults  before  he  falls  into  them ;  but 
when  he  has  fallen  into  them  do  not  reproach  him  with 
them  :  you  would  merely  cause  his  self-love  to  rise  in  re- 
bellion. The  lesson  which  revolts  does  not  profit.  I 
know  nothing  more  stupid  than  this  saying,  /  told  you  so. 
The  best  means  to  make  him  recollect  what  you  have  said 
to  him  is  to  appear  to  have  forgotten  it.  On  the  con- 
trary, when  you  see  him  ashamed  for  not  having  believed 
you,  mildly  efface  this  humiliation  by  kind  words.  He 
will  become  firmly  attached  to  you  when  he  sees  that  you 
forget  yourself  for  his  sake,  and  that  instead  of  completely 
crushing  him  you  offer  him  consolation.  But  if  to  his 
chagrin  you  add  reproaches,  he  will  hate  you,  and  will 
make  it  a  law  no  longer  to  listen  to  you,  as  though  to 
prove  to  you  that  he  does  not  think  as  you  do  on  the  im- 
portance of  your  advice. 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  221 

The  manner  of  your  consolation  may  still  be  a  means 
of  instruction  to  him,  all  the  more  useful  because  he  will 
not  distrust  it  then.  In  saying  to  him,  for  example,  that 
a  thousand  others  have  committed  the  same  faults,  you 
will  place  him  far  above  his  own  reckoning ;  you  will  cor- 
rect him  by  not  seeming  to  pity  him  ;  for,  to  one  who  be- 
lieves he  is  of  more  account  than  other  men,  it  is  a  very 
mortifying  excuse  to  be  consoled  by  their  example ;  it  is 
to  conceive  that  the  most  that  he  can  assume  is  that  they 
are  worth  no  more  than  he  is. 

The  time  of  faults  is  the  time  for  fables.*  By  censur- 
ing the  wrong-doer  under  an  unknown  mask  we  instruct 
without  offending  him  ;  and  he  then  understands,  through 
the  truth  whose  application  he  makes  to  himself,  that  the 
apologue  is  not  a  falsehood.  The  child  who  has  n^ver 
been  deceived  by  flattery  understands  nothing  of  the 
fable  which  I  have  previously  examined ;  f  but  the  heed- 
less child  who  has  just  been  the  dupe  of  a  flatterer  under- 
stands wonderfully  well  that  the  crow  was  only  a  block- 
head. Thus,  from  a  fact  he  derives  a  maxim ;  and  the 
experience  which  he  would  have  soon  forgotten  becomes 
fixed  in  his  judgment  by  means  of  a  fable.  There  is  no 
ethical  knowledge  which  can  not  be  acquired  through  the 

*  Rousseau  now  modifies  somewhat  his  condemnation  of  fables, 
though  he  is  manifestly  wrong  in  thinking  that  their  real  use  is  in 
the  instruction  of  men — their  purpose  is  not  to  throw  a  veil  over 
truth,  but  by  means  of  comparison  to  bring  a  great  moral  truth 
within  the  comprehension  of  children.  The  art  of  the  fabulist  con- 
sists in  giving  to  a  general  truth  a  concrete  and  attractive  form,  or 
in  making  it  easy  to  infer  a  general  truth  from  a  concrete  instance. 
Instruction  by  fable,  by  allegory,  and  by  parable,  is  one  of  the  most 
ancient  and  effective  of  teaching  devices,  and  on  all  accounts  is 
worthy  of  being  restored  to  something  of  its  ancient  place  of 
honor. — (P.) 

f  The  Fox  and  the  Crow. 


222  EMILE. 

experience  of  others  or  through  one's  own.  In  case 
experience  is  dangerous,  instead  of  making  it  ourselves 
we  draw  the  lesson  from  history.  AVhen  the  trial  is  with- 
out consequence,  it  is  well  for  the  young  man  to  remain 
exposed  to  it ;  then,  by  means  of  the  apologue,  we  formu- 
late as  maxims  the  particular  cases  which  are  known  to 
him. 

I  do  not  intend,  however,  that  these  maxims  should  be 
developed,  or  even  announced.  Nothing  is  so  useless,  so 
badly  conceived,  as  the  moral  by  which  most  fables  are 
terminated  ;  as  though  this  moral  was  not  or  ought  not 
to  be  developed  in  the  fable  itself,  in  a  way  to  make  it 
obvious  to  the  reader !  Why,  then,  by  adding  this  moral 
at  the  end,  take  from  him  the  pleasure  of  finding  it  for 
himself  ?  Skillful  teaching  causes  the  learner  to  take 
delight  in  instruction.  Now,  in  order  that  he  may  take 
delight  in  it,  his  mind  must  not  remain  so  passive  to  all 
you  say  to  him  that  he  has  absolutely  nothing  to  do  to 
understand  you.  The  pride  of  the  teacher  must  always 
allow  some  exercise  of  his  own ;  he  must  be  able  to  say : 
"  I  conceive,  I  discern,  I  act,  I  instruct  myself."  One  of 
the  things  which  make  the  Pantalon  of  the  Italian  com- 
edy a  bore  is  the  pains  he  takes  to  interpret  to  the  pit 
the  platitudes  which  are  already  too  well  understood. 
I  would  not  have  a  tutor  be  a  Pantalon,  and  still  less  an 
author.  We  must  always  make  ourselves  understood,  but 
we  need  not  always  tell  everything.  He  who  tells  all  tells 
little,  for  at  the  end  we  no  longer  listen  to  him.  What 
signify  those  four  lines  which  La  Fontaine  adds  to  the 
fable  of  the  toad  who  would  swell  himself  to  the  size  of 
the  ox  ?  Was  he  afraid  that  he  would  not  be  understood  ? 
Did  this  great  painter  need  to  write  names  below  the 
objects  which  he  painted  ?  Far  from  generalizing  his 
moral  by  this  process,  he  particularizes  it,  restricts  it  in 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  223 

some  sort  to  the  example  cited,  and  prevents  its  applica- 
tion to  others.  Before  placing  the  fables  of  this  inim- 
itable author  in  the  hands  of  a  young  man,  I  would  have 
stricken  from  them  all  those  conclusions  by  which  he 
takes  the  trouble  to  explain  what  he  has  just  said  so  clear- 
ly and  agreeably.  If  your  pupil  does  not  understand  the 
fable  save  through  the  aid  of  the  explanation,  you  may 
be  sure  that  he  will  never  understand  it  even  in  that  way. 
Again,  it  is  important  to  give  to  these  fables  an  order 
more  didactic  and  more  in  conformity  with  the  ado- 
lescent's progress  in  feeling  and  intelligence.  Can  we 
conceive  anything  less  reasonable  than  to  follow  with 
exactness  the  numerical  order  of  the  book,  without  re- 
gard to  need  or  to  occasion  ?  First  the  crow,  then  the 
grasshopper,  then  the  frog,  then  the  two  mules,  etc.  I 
have  in  mind  these  two  mules,  because  I  recollect  having 
seen  a  child  who  had  been  educated  for  finance,  and 
whose  thoughts  were  full  of  the  employment  which  he 
was  going  to  take  up,  read  this  fable,  learn  it  by  heart,  re- 
cite it,  and  repeat  it  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  times,  with- 
out ever  drawing  from  it  the  least  objection  to  the  calling 
to  which  he  was  destined.  Not  only  have  I  never  seen  chil- 
dren make  any  substantial  application  of  the  fables  which 
they  learn,  but  I  have  never  seen  that  any  one  cared  to 
make  this  application  for  them.  The  pretext  for  this 
study  is  moral  instruction  ;  but  the  real  object  of  mother 
and  child  is  to  occupy  the  whole  company  with  him  while 
he  recites  his  fables.  Thus,  while  growing  up,  and  when 
it  is  no  longer  a  question  of  reciting  them,  but  of  deriving 
profit  from  them,  he  forgets  them  all.  Once  more :  It 
belongs  only  to  men  to  be  instructed  by  fables ;  and  it 
is  now  time  for  Emile  to  begin.* 

*  At  the  age  of  eighteen. 


224  EMILE. 

When  I  see  that  in  the  age  of  their  greatest  activity 
young  people  are  restricted  to  purely  speculative  studies, 
and  that  afterward,  without  the  least  experience,  they  are 
all  at  once  sent  forth  into  the  world  and  into  business,  I 
find  that  reason,  no  less  than  nature,  is  shocked,  and  I 
am  no  longer  surprised  that  so  few  people  know  how  to 
get  on  in  the  world.  Through  what  strange  turn  of  mind 
is  it  that  we  are  taught  so  many  useless  things,  while  the 
art  of  self-conduct  counts  for  nothing?  It  is  asserted 
that  we  are  trained  for  society,  and  yet  we  are  taught  as 
though  each  of  us  was  to  spend  his  life  in  thinking  alone 
in  his  cell,  or  in  discussing  idle  questions  with  the  indif- 
ferent. You  fancy  you  are  teaching  your  pupils  to  live 
by  teaching  them  certain  contortions  of  the  body  and 
certain  verbal  formula  which  have  no  significance.  I 
also  have  taught  my  Emile  to  live,  for  I  have  taught  him 
to  live  by  himself,  and,  in  addition,  to  know  how  to 
earn  his  daily  bread.  But  this  is  not  enough.  In  order 
to  live  in  the  world,  we  must  know  how  to  get  on  with 
men,  and  must  know  the  instruments  which  give  us  a 
hold  on  them ;  we  must  calculate  the  action  and  reaction 
of  individual  interest  in  civil  society,  and  must  foresee 
events  so  accurately  that  we  shall  rarely  be  deceived  in 
our  enterprises,  or  at  least  shall  always  take  the  means 
most  likely  to  succeed.  The  laws  do  not  permit  young 
men  to  transact  their  own  business  and  to  dispose  of 
their  own  property;  but  of  what  use  would  these  pre- 
cautions be  to  them  if  up  to  the  prescribed  age  they 
could  acquire  no  experience  ?  They  would  have  gained 
nothing  by  waiting,  and  would  be  just  as  inexperienced 
tt  twenty-five  as  at  fifteen.  Doubtless,  a  young  man 
blinded  by  his  ignorance  or  deceived  by  his  passions 
must  be  prevented  from  doing  harm  to  himself ;  but  at 
every  age  it  is  permissible  to  be  beneficent ;  at  every  age, 


F.MILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  226 

under  the  direction  of  a  wise  man,  protection  may  be 
given  to  the  unfortunate  whose  only  need  is  proper  sup- 
port. 

Nurses  and  mothers  become  attached  to  children 
through  the  service  they  render  them;  the  exercise  of 
the  social  virtues  fills  the  heart  with  the  love  of  human- 
ity. It  is  by  doing  good  that  we  become  good ;  I  do  not 
know  of  a  surer  process.  Interest  your  pupil  in  all  the 
good  deeds  which  are  within  his  reach.  Let  the  cause  of 
the  poor  always  be  his  own ;  let  him  assist  them,  not 
only  with  his  purse,  but  with  his  good  offices ;  let  him 
serve  them,  protect  them,  and  consecrate  to  them  his  per- 
son and  his  time ;  let  him  make  himself  their  man  of 
business ;  he  will  never  perform  so  noble  a  service  during 
the  course  of  his  life.  How  many  of  the  oppressed, 
whose  petitions  have  never  been  heard,  will  obtain  justice 
when  he  shall  demand  it  for  them  with  that  intrepid 
firmness  which  is  given  by  the  exercise  of  virtue ;  when 
he  will  force  open  the  doors  of  the  great  and  the  rich ; 
and  when  he  will  go,  if  necessary,  even  to  the  foot  of  the 
throne,  to  make  heard  the  petitions  of  the  unfortunate,  to 
whom  every  way  of  approach  is  closed  by  their  misery, 
and  whom  the  fear  of  being  punished  for  wrongs  which 
have  been  done  them  prevents  even  from  daring  to  utter 
a  word  of  complaint ! 

But  shall  we  make  of  Emile  a  knight-errant,  a  re- 
dresser  of  wrongs,  a  paladin?  Shall  he  go  to  meddle 
before  public  affairs,  make  himself  the  sage  and  defender 
of  the  laws  before  the  great,  before  magistrates,  before 
the  prince,  and  become  a  solicitor  before  judges,  and 
an  advocate  in  the  courts  ?  I  know  nothing  of  all  this. 
The  nature  of  things  is  not  changed  by  the  use  of  banter 
and  ridicule.  He  will  do  whatever  he  knows  to  be  useful 
and  good.  He  will  do  nothing  more,  and  he  knows  that 


226 

nothing  is  useful  and  good  for  him  which  is  not  befit- 
ting his  age.  He  knows  that  his  first  duty  is  toward 
himself ;  that  young  men  ought  to  distrust  themselves, 
to  be  circumspect  in  their  conduct,  respectful  in  the 
presence  of  older  persons,  reserved  and  discreet  in  speak- 
ing only  on  proper  occasions,  modest  in  indifferent  things, 
but  bold  in  well-doing,  and  courageous  in  speaking  the 
truth.  Such  were  those  illustrious  Romans  who,  before 
being  admitted  to  office,  spent  their  youth  in  punishing 
crime  and  defending  innocence,  with  no  other  thought 
than  that  of  improving  themselves  by  serving  justice  and 
protecting  good  morals. 

Emile  loves  neither  disturbance  nor  quarrels,  neither 
among  men,*  nor  even  among  animals.  He  will  never 

*  But  if  some  one  seeks  a  quarrel  with  him,  what  will  he  do  f 
I  reply  that  he  will  never  have  a  quarrel :  that  he  will  never  con- 
duct himself  so  as  to  have  one.  But,  after  all,  some  one  will  re- 
join :  Who  is  there  who  is  safe  from  a  blow  or  from  an  insult  on  the 
part  of  a  brute,  a  drunkard,  or  a  bold  rascal  who,  in  order  to  have 
the  pleasure  of  killing  his  man,  begins  by  insulting  him  ?  This  is  a 
different  thing.  It  is  not  necessary  that  the  honor  or  the  life  of 
citizens  should  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  brute,  a  drunkard,  or  a  bold 
rascal;  and  we  can  no  more  preserve  ourselves  from  such  an  acci- 
dent than  from  the  fall  of  a  tile.  A  blow  and  an  insult  received  and 
suffered  are  civil  consequences  which  no  wisdom  can  foresee  and 
the  victim  of  which  no  tribunal  can  avenge.  In  such  cases  the  in- 
sufficiency of  the  laws  restores  to  one  his  independence ;  he  then 
becomes  sole  magistrate  and  sole  judge  between  the  offender  and 
himself;  he  is  sole  interpreter  and  minister  of  the  law  of  Nature; 
he  owes  himself  justice,  and  can  alone  render  it ;  and  there  is  rto 
government  on  the  earth  insane  enough  to  punish  him  for  having 
justified  himself  in  such  a  case.  I  do  not  say  that  he  ought  to 
fight,  for  this  is  folly ;  but  I  do  say  that  he  owes  justice  to  himself, 
and  that  he  is  sole  dispenser  of  it.  Without  so  many  useless  edicts 
against  duels,  if  I  were  sovereign,  I  guarantee  that  there  should 
never  be  a  blow  or  an  insult  given  within  my  domains,  and  this 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  227 

.ncite  two  dogs  to  fight,  and  will  never  cause  a  cat  to  be 
pursued  by  a  dog.  This  spirit  of  peace  is  an  effect  of 
his  education,  which,  not  having  fomented  self-love  and 
a  high  opinion  of  himself,  has  prevented  him  from  seek- 
ing his  pleasures  in  domination  and  in  the  misfortunes 
of  others.  He  suffers  when  he  sees  suffering.  This  is 
a  natural  feeling.  That  which  hardens  a  young  man 
and  causes  him  to  take  pleasure  in  seeing  a  sensible 
creature  tormented  is  that  turn  of  vanity  which  makes 
him  regard  himself  as  exempt  from  the  same  suffering 
through  his  wisdom  or  through  his  superiority.  He  who 
has  been  preserved  from  this  turn  of  mind  can  not  fall 
into  the  vice  which  is  the  consequence  of  it.  Hence 
Emile  loves  peace.  The  image  of  happiness  charms  him, 
and  when  he  can  contribute  toward  producing  it  he  has  an 
additional  means  of  sharing  in  it.  I  have  not  supposed 
that  while  seeing  the  unfortunate  he  has  for  them  only 
that  sterile  and  cruel  pity  which  contents  itself  with 
pitying  the  evils  which  it  can  cure.  His  active  benefi- 

by  a  very  simple  means,  one  with  which  courts  would  have  nothing 
to  do.  However  it  may  be,  fimile  knows  in  such  cases  the  justice 
which  he  owes  to  himself  and  the  example  which  he  owes  to  the 
safety  of  men  of  honor.  It  does  not  depend  on  the  bravest  man  to 
prevent  himself  from  being  insulted,  but  it  does  depend  on  him  to 
prevent  another  from  long  boasting  of  having  insulted  him.* 

*  Rousseau's  theory  of  natural  right  is  here  extended  to  its 
logical  conclusion ;  men,  on  occasion,  may  resume  the  natural 
rights  which  society  had  extorted  from  them,  and  may  punish 
offenders  without  the  intervention  of  legal  processes.  Much  of  our 
Fourth-of-July  oratory  fosters  this  political  heresy :  This  is  a  gov- 
ernment of  the  people,  for  the  people,  by  the  people ;  and  the  easy 
inference  is  that  when  the  people  become  dissatisfied  with  the  pro- 
tection promised  them  by  the  laws  they  may  resume  their  delegated 
authority,  and  become  their  own  court,  judge,  and  executioner. 

-(P.) 

18 


228 

cence  soon  gives  him  knowledge  which,  with  a  harder 
heart,  he  would  not  have  acquired,  or  which  he  would 
have  acquired  much  later.  If  he  sees  discord  prevailing 
among  his  companions,  he  seeks  to  reconcile  them  ;  if  he 
sees  persons  in  affliction,  he  informs  himself  of  the  cause 
of  their  sorrows ;  if  he  sees  two  men  hating  each  other, 
he  wishes  to  know  the  cause  of  their  enmity ;  if  he  sees  a 
victim  of  oppression  groaning  under  the  vexations  of  the 
powerful  and  the  rich,  he  seeks  for  ways  by  which  these 
vexatious  may  be  made  to  cease ;  and  in  the  interest 
which  he  takes  in  all  the  unfortunate,  the  means  for  cur- 
ing their  ills  are  never  matters  of  indifference  for  him. 
What,  then,  have  we  to  do  to  avail  ourselves  of  these 
dispositions  in  a  manner  suitable  to  his  age  ?  To  regu- 
late his  good  offices  and  his  knowledge,  and  to  employ  his 
zeal  in  augmenting  them. 

I  do  not  grow  weary  of  repeating  that  all  the  lessons 
of  young  men  should  be  given  in  actions  rather  than  in 
words.  Let  them  learn  nothing  in  books  that  can  be  taught 
them  by  experience.  What  an  extravagant  idea  to  train 
them  in  speaking  without  a  topic  for  discussion,  and  to 
fancy  that  they  can  be  made  to  feel,  on  the  benches  of  a 
college,  the  energy  of  a  language  of  the  passions  and  all  the 
force  of  the  art  of  persuading,  without  being  interested  in 
some  one  who  is  to  be  persuaded !  All  the  precepts  of 
rhetoric  seem  but  pure  verbiage  to  one  who  does  not  see 
that  they  can  be  employed  to  his  advantage.  Of  what 
importance  is  it  to  a  scholar  to  know  how  Hannibal  pro- 
ceeded in  order  to  prevail  upon  his  soldiers  to  cross  the 
Alps  ?  If,  in  place  of  these  magnificent  harangues,  you 
tell  him  how  he  ought  to  proceed  in  order  to  induce  his 
master  to  grant  him  a  leave  of  absence,  you  may  be  sure 
that  he  will  be  more  attentive  to  your  rules. 

The  more  I  think  of  it,  the  more  I  am  convinced  that 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  229 

in  thus  putting  beneficence  in  action  and  drawing  from 
our  good  or  bad  success  reflections  on  their  causes,  there 
is  little  useful  knowledge  which  can  not  be  cultivated  in 
the  mind  of  a  young  man ;  and  that,  with  all  the  real 
knowledge  which  can  be  acquired  in  colleges,  he  will 
acquire  a  still  more  important  science  in  addition,  which 
is  the  application  of  this  acquisition  to  the  usages  of  life. 

What  grand  designs  I  see  arranged,  little  by  little,  in 
his  mind  !  What  sublime  sentiments  stifle  in  his  heart  the 
germ  of  petty  passions !  What  clearness  of  judgment  and 
what  accuracy  of  reason  I  see  formed  in  him  by  his  cult- 
ured propensities  and  from  the  experience  which  concen- 
trates the  desires  of  a  great  soul  within  the  narrow  limits 
of  the  possible,  and  causes  a  man  superior  to  others,  but 
not  able  to  raise  them  to  his  level,  to  know  how  to  con- 
descend to  theirs !  The  true  principles  of  the  just,  the 
true  models  of  the  beautiful,  all  the  moral  relations  of 
beings,  and  all  the  ideas  of  order,  are  engraved  in  his  un- 
derstanding ;  he  sees  the  place  of  each  thing,  and  the 
cause  which  removes  the  thing  from  its  place';  he  sees 
what  can  produce  the  good,  and  what  prevents  it.  With- 
out having  experienced  the  human  passions,  he  knows 
their  illusions  and  their  manner  of  acting. 

Consider  that,  while  wishing  to  form  the  man  of  na- 
ture, it  is  not  proposed  for  this  purpose  to  make  a  savago 
of  him  and  to  banish  him  to  the  depths  of  a  forest ;  but 
that,  confined  within  the  social  vortex,  it  suffices  that  he 
does  not  allow  himself  to  be  drawn  there  either  by  the 
passions  or  the  opinions  of  men ;  that  he  see  with  his  eyes 
and  feel  with  his  heart ;  and  that  he  be  governed  by  no 
authority  save  that  of  his  own  reason. 

Locke  would  have  us  begin  with  the  study  of  mind, 
and  pass  thence  to  the  study  of  the  body.  This  is  the 
method  of  superstition,  of  prejudice,  and  of  error,  but  not 


230  fiMILE. 

that  of  reason,  nor  even  of  well-ordered  nature ;  it  is  to 
close  one's  eyes  in  order  to  learn  how  to  see.  We  must 
have  studied  the  .body  for  a  long  time  in  order  to  form  a 
correct  notion  of  mind  and  to  suspect  that  it  exists.  The 
contrary  order  serves  only  to  establish  materialism. 

I  foresee  that  many  of  my  readers  will  be  surprised  to 
see  me  pursue  the  entire  primary  period  of  my  pupil's 
education  without  speaking  to  him  of  religion.  At  the 
age  of  fifteen  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  a  soul,  and  per- 
haps at  eighteen  it  is  not  yet  time  for  him  to  learn  it ; 
for,  if  he  learn  it  sooner  than  is  necessary,  he  runs  the 
risk  of  never  knowing  it. 

Let  us  refrain  from  announcing  the  truth  to  those  who 
are  not  in  a  condition  to  understand  it,  for  this  is  equiva- 
lent to  substituting  error  for  it.  It  would  be  much  better 
to  have  no  idea  of  the  Divinity,  than  to  have  ideas  which 
are  low,  fanciful,  wrongful,  or  unworthy  of  him.  Not  to 
know  the  Divinity  is  a  lesser  evil  than  to  have  unworthy 
conceptions  of  him.  "  I  would  much  prefer,"  says  the 
good  Plutarch,  "  that  one  should  believe  there  is  no  Plu- 
tarch in  existence,  than  to  say  that  Plutarch  is  unjust, 
envious,  jealous,  and  so  tyrannical  as  to  exact  more  than 
he  gives  power  to  perform." 

The  great  evil  of  the  deformed  images  of  the  Divinity 
which  are  traced  in  the  minds  of  children  is  that  they 
remain  there  as  long  as  they  live,  and  that  when  they  have 
become  men  they  have  no  other  conception  of  God  than 
that  of  their  childhood.  In  Switzerland  I  once  saw  a 
good  and  pious  mother  so  convinced  of  this  truth,  that 
she  would  not  instruct  her  son  in  religion  in  his  child- 
hood for  fear  that,  satisfied  with  this  rude  instruction, 
he  would  neglect  a  bettei  at  the  age  of  reason.  This 
child  never  heard  God  spoken  of  save  with  seriousness 
and  reverence ;  and  the  moment  he  attempted  to  speak 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  231 

af  him  himself  silence  was  imposed  on  him,  as  though 
the  subject  were  too  sublime  and  too  grand  for  him. 
This  reserve  excited  his  curiosity,  and  his  self-love  yearned 
for  the  moment  when  he  might  know  this  mystery  which 
was  so  carefully  kept  from  him.  The  less  one  spoke  to 
him  of  God,  and  the  less  he  was  suffered  to  speak  of  him 
himself,  the  more  his  thoughts  were  occupied  with  him ; 
fchat  child  saw  God  everywhere.  And  what  I  would  fear 
from  this  air  of  mystery  indiscreetly  affected  is,  that  by 
exciting  the  imagination  of  a  young  man  too  vividly 
his  head  might  be  turned,  and  that  finally  he  would  be- 
come a  fanatic  instead  of  a  believer.* 

But  let  us  fear  nothing  of  this  sort  for  my  Emile,  who, 
constantly  refusing  his  attention  to  whatever  is  beyond 
his  reach,  hears  with  the  most  profound  indifference  the 
things  which  he  does  not  understand.  There  are  so  many 
things  respecting  which  he  is  accustomed  to  say  that  they 
do  not  fall  within  his  province,  that  an  additional  one 
scarcely  embarrasses  him ;  and  when  he  begins  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  these  great  questions,  it  is  not  from  having 
heard  them  proposed,  but  because  the  natural  progress 

*  One  of  Rousseau's  cardinal  doctrines  is  the  progressive  devel- 
opment of  the  child's  powers ;  but  he  seems  to  miss  the  truth  that 
there  is  a  corresponding  progress  in  the  child's  knowledge,  fimile 
shall  not  read  fables  till  he  can  form  a  clear  comprehension  of  them  ; 
shall  not  learn  the  demonstration  of  a  proposition  till  the  logical 
faculty  has  been  fully  developed ;  and  shall  have  no  notion  of  the 
Supreme  Being  till  the  time  comes  when  he  can  form  an  adequate 
notion  of  him.  St.  Paul  was  wiser :  "  When  I  was  a  child  I  spake 
as  a  child,  I  understood  as  a  child,  I  thought  as  a  child ;  but  when 
I  became  a  man  I  put  away  childish  things."  The  natural  genesis 
of  knowledge  is  from  the  vague  to  the  definite.  Rude  notions  suf- 
fice for  the  child ;  they  serve  his  present  needs  best,  and  are  the 
necessary  antecedents  to  the  higher  form  of  knowledge  which  is 
befitting  to  men. — (P.) 


232  EMILE. 

of  his  intelligence  carries  his  researches  in  that  direc- 
tion.* 

We  work  in  concert  with  Nature,  and  while  she  is 
forming  the  physical  man,  we  are  trying  to  form  the 
moral  man  ;  but  our  progress  is  not  the  same.  The  body 
is  already  robust  and  strong  while  the  soul  is  still  lan- 
guishing and  feeble,  and  notwithstanding  all  that  human 
art  can  do,  temperament  always  precedes  reason.  It  is  to 
hold  the  one  and  to  excite  the  other  that  we  have  so  far 
devoted  all  our  care,  so  that  as  far  as  possible  man  might 
always  be  one.  While  developing  the  disposition  we  have 
diverted  his  nascent  sensibility ;  we  have  regulated  it  by 
cultivating  the  reason.  Intellectual  objects  modify  the 
impressions  of  sensible  objects.  By  ascending  to  the  prin- 
ciple of  things  we  have  withdrawn  him  from  the  empire 
of  the  senses.  It  was  easy  to  rise  from  the  study  of  Na- 
ture to  the  search  for  its  author. 

When  we  have  reached  this  point  what  new  holds  we 
have  gained  on  our  pupil !  What  new  means  we  have 
of  speaking  to  his  heart !  It  is  only  then  that  he  finds 
his  real  interest  in  being  good  and  in  doing  good,  with  no 
regard  to  men,  and  without  being  forced  to  it  by  the  laws ; 
in  being  just  between  God  and  himself ;  in  performing 
his  duty,  even  at  the  cost  of  his  life  ;  and  in  maintaining 
purity  of  heart,  not  only  for  the  love  of  order  to  which 
each  always  prefers  the  love  of  self,  but  for  the  love  of  his 
Creator  which  is  mingled  with  this  very  love  of  self,  in 
order  that  he  may  finally  enjoy  the  lasting  happiness 
which  the  repose  of  a  good  conscience  and  the  contem- 
plation of  that  Supreme  Being  promise  him  in  the  other 

*  At  this  point  intervenes  the  Savoyard  Vicar's  Confession  of 
Faith,  a  sort  of  philosophical  gospel  of  deism  and  natural  religion. 
It  forms  a  religious  tract  too  long  to  quote,  and  a  mere  extract 
would  give  only  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  it. — (P.) 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  233 

life,  after  having  made  a  good  use  of  this.  Depart  from 
this,  and  I  see  nothing  but  injustice,  hypocrisy,  and  false- 
hood among  men ;  and  the  individual  interest  which,  in 
competition,  necessarily  prevails  over  everything  else, 
teaches  each  of  them  to  adorn  vice  with  the  mask  of  vir- 
tue. Let  all  other  men  consult  my  happiness  at  the  ex- 
pense of  their  own  ;  let  everything  have  reference  to  me 
alone ;  let  the  whole  human  race  die,  if  necessary,  in  pain 
and  in  wretchedness,  in  order  to  spare  me  a  moment  of 
sorrow  or  of  hunger  :  such  is  the  inward  language  of 
every  unbeliever  who  reasons.  Yes,  I  will  maintain  it  as 
long  as  I  live  :  whoever  has  said  in  his  heart  there  is  no 
God,  and  speaks  differently,  is  but  a  liar  or  a  fool. 

The  true  moment  of  nature  finally  comes,  as  it  ne- 
cessarily must.  Since  man  must  die,  he  must  reproduce 
himself  in  order  that  the  species  may  endure  and  the 
order  of  the  world  be  preserved.  When,  by  signs  which 
I  have  mentioned,  you  have  a  presentiment  of  the  critical 
moment,  instantly  and  forever  abandon  your  former  man- 
ner with  him.  He  is  still  your  disciple,  but  he  is  no 
longer  your  pupil.  He  is  your  friend — he  is  a  man ;  hence- 
forth treat  him  as  such. 

What !  must  I  abdicate  my  authority  when  it  is  the 
most  necessary  ?  Must  the  adult  be  abandoned  to  him- 
self at  the  moment  when  he  is  the  least  capable  of  self- 
conduct,  and  is  in  danger  of  making  the  greatest  mis- 
takes ?  Must  I  renounce  my  rights  when  it  is  of  the  most 
importance  to  him  that  I  use  them  ? 

I  freely  acknowledge  that,  if  coming  in  direct  collision 
with  his  nascent  desires,  you  were  stupidly  to  treat  as 
crimes  the  new  needs  which  make  themselves  felt  within 
him,  you  would  not  long  be  listened  to  by  him  ;  but  the 
moment  you  abandon  my  method  I  am  no  longer  respon- 
sible to  you  for  anything.  Always  recollect  that  you 


234 

are  the  minister  of  Nature;  you  are  never  to  be  her 
enemy. 

But  what  course  shall  we  follow  ?  All  that  is  to  be 
expected  here  is  the  alternative  of  favoring  his  propen- 
sities or  of  opposing  them  ;  of  being  his  tyrant  or  his  ac- 
complice ;  and  both  have  such  dangerous  consequences 
that  it  is  only  too  difficult  to  decide  between  them. 

Considering  that  Nature  has  no  fixed  limit  which  can 
not  be  advanced  or  retarded,  I  think  I  may  assume  that, 
without  departing  from  her  law,  Emile  has  remained  up 
to  this  time,  through  my  care,  in  his  primitive  innocence ; 
and  I  see  this  happy  epoch  ready  to  terminate.  Sur- 
rounded by  ever-increasing  perils,  he  is  on  the  point  of 
escaping  from  me  on  the  first  occasion,  regardless  of  all  I 
may  do ;  and  this  occasion  will  not  be  slow  in  making  its 
appearance.  He  will  follow  the  blind  instinct  of  his 
senses,  and  a  thousand  to  one  he  will  be  lost.  I  have  re- 
flected too  much  on  the  manners  of  men  not  to  see  the 
invincible  influence  of  this  first  moment  on  the  rest  of  his 
life.  If  I  dissimulate  and  pretend  to  see  nothing,  he  takes 
advantage  of  my  weakness ;  thinking  that  he  deceives  me, 
he  holds  me  in  contempt,  and  I  am  the  accomplice  of  his 
ruin.  If  I  attempt  to  hold  him  back,  the  time  for  it  is 
passed,  and  he  no  longer  listens  to  me.  I  become  dis- 
agreeable to  him,  odious,  unendurable,  and  he  will  not  be 
likely  to  lose  any  time  in  getting  rid  of  me.  There  is 
therefore,  henceforth,  only  one  reasonable  course  for  me 
to  take :  and  this  is,  to  make  him  accountable  to  himself 
for  his  actions,  to  shield  him,  at  least,  from  the  surprises 
of  error,  and  to  show  him  without  concealment  the  perils 
by  which  he  is  surrounded.  Up  to  this  time  I  have  held 
him  back  through  his  ignorance ;  but  now  he  must  be 
controlled  by  his  intelligence. 

These  new  instructions  are  important,  and  it  behooves 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  235 

us  to  discuss  matters  from  a  higher  point  of  view.  This 
is  the  moment,  so  to  speak,  for  presenting  to  him  my  ac- 
count, by  showing  him  the  use  that  has  been  made  of  his 
time  and  of  my  own  ;  for  declaring  to  him  what  he  is  and 
what  I  am ;  what  I  have  done  and  what  he  has  done ; 
what  we  owe  to  each  other,  all  his  moral  relations,  and  all 
the  engagements  which  he  has  contracted;  what  point 
he  has  reached  in  the  progress  of  his  faculties,  what  part 
of  the  route  remains  to  be  traversed,  the  difficulties  he 
will  find  there,  the  means  for  overcoming  them,  and  how 
far  I  am  able  to  aid  him  ;  then,  how  far  he  alone  is  hence- 
forth able  to  aid  himself ;  lastly,  the  critical  point  where 
he  now  stands,  the  new  perils  which  surround  him,  and 
all  the  valid  reasons  which  should  induce  him  to  watch 
attentively  over  himself  before  listening  to  his  nascent 
desires. 

Recollect  that  for  adult  conduct  we  must  adopt  the 
very  reverse  of  the  course  you  have  followed  in  the  man- 
agement of.  a  child.  Do  not  hesitate  to  instruct  him  in 
those  dangerous  mysteries  which  you  have  so  long  con- 
cealed from  him  with  so  much  care.  Since  he  must 
finally  know  them,  it  is  important  that  he  learn  them 
neither  from  another  nor  from  himself,  but  from  you 
alone.  For  fear  of  surprise,  he  must  know  his  enemy, 
since  he  will  henceforth  be  compelled  to  fight  him. 

Young  men  who  are  found  wise  on  these  subjects, 
without  knowing  how  they  became  so,  have  never  gained 
their  wisdom  with  impunity.  This  indiscreet  instruction, 
as  it  can  not  have  an  honest  purpose,  at  least  sullies  the 
imagination  of  those  who  receive  it,  and  disposes  them  to 
the  vices  of  those  who  give  it.  This  is  not  all :  domes- 
tics thus  insinuate  themselves  into  the  mind  of  the  child, 
gain  his  confidence,  make  him  regard  his  tutor  as  a  gloomy 
and  disagreeable  person,  and  one  of  the  favorite  purposes 


236 

of  their  secret  gossip  is  to  slander  him.  When  the  pupil 
has  reached  this  point  the  master  may  retire,  for  there  is 
no  longer  any  good  that  he  can  do. 

But  why  does  the  child  choose  secret  confidants  ? 
Always  through  the  tyranny  of  those  who  govern  him. 
Why  should  he  conceal  himself  from  them  if  he  were  not 
forced  to  do  so  ?  Why  should  he  complain  of  them  if  he 
had  no  subject  of  complaint  ?  Naturally  they  are  his  first 
confidants ;  and  we  see  from  the  eagerness  with  which  he 
comes  to  tell  them  what  he  thinks,  that  he  believes  that  he 
has  only  half  thought  it  until  he  has  told  them.  Consider 
that,  if  the  child  fears  neither  lecture  nor  reprimand  on 
your  part,  he  will  always  tell  you  everything ;  and  that 
no  one  will  dare  confide  anything  to  him  which  he  ought 
to  conceal  from  you,  if  he  is  very  sure  that  he  will  conceal 
nothing  from  you. 

So  long  as  he  continues  thus  to  open  his  heart  freely 
to  me,  and  tell  me  with  pleasure  whatever  he  feels,  I  have 
nothing  to  fear — the*  danger  is  not  yet  near ;  but  if  he  be- 
comes more  timid  and  more  reserved,  and  I  perceive  in 
his  conversation  the  first  embarassment  from  shame,  the 
instinct  is  already  developing  itself,  and  the  idea  of  evil 
is  already  beginning  to  be -associated  with  it.  There  is  no 
longer  a  moment  to  lose ;  and,  if  I  do  not  make  haste  to 
instruct  him,  he  will  soon  be  instructed  in  spite  of 
myself. 

Reading,  solitude,  idleness,  an  aimless  and  sedentary 
life,  intercourse  with  young  men  and  women,  these  are 
the  paths  dangerous  to  open  to  one  of  his  age,  and 
which  ceaselessly  keep  him  alongside  of  peril.  It  is 
through  other  sensible  objects  that  I  divert  his  senses ;  it' 
is  by  tracing  another  course  for  his  inclinations  that  I 
turn  them  aside  from  the  one  which  they  began  to  follow  ; 
it  is  by  exercising  his  body  at  painful  labor  that  I  arrest 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  237 

the  activity  of  the  imagination  that  is  leading  him 
away. 

When  the  hands  are  fully  occupied,  the  imagination  is 
in  repose ;  when  the  body  is  very  weary,  the  heart  does  not 
become  excited.  The  promptest  and  easiest  precaution 
is  to  take  him  away  from  local  danger.  At  first  I  re- 
move him  from  cities,  far  from  objects  capable  of  tempt- 
ing him.  But  this  is  not  enough.  In  what  desert,  in  what 
wild  retreat,  will  he  escape  the  images  which  pursue  him  ? 
It  is  of  no  account  to  withdraw  him  from  dangerous 
objects,  if  I  do  not  also  withdraw  him  from  the  recol- 
lection of  them ;  if  I  do  not  find  the  art  of  detaching 
him  from  everything.  If  I  do  not  distract  his  attention 
from  himself,  I  might  as  well  leave  him  where  he  was. 

Emile  knows  a  trade,  but  this  trade  is  not  our  resource 
here;  he  loves  and  understands  agriculture,  but  agri- 
culture does  not  suffice  us.  The  occupations  which  he 
knows  become  routine ;  in  devoting  himself  to  them  it  is 
as  though  he  were  doing  nothing ;  he  is  thinking  of  a 
wholly  different  thing ;  head  and  hands  are  acting  sep- 
arately. What  is  needed  is  a  new  occupation  which  in- 
terests him  by  its  novelty,  which  keeps  him  in  good 
humor,  gives  him  pleasure,  occupies  his  attention,  and 
keeps  him  in  training — an  occupation  of  which  he  is  pas- 
sionately fond  and  in  which  he  is  wholly  absorbed.  Now 
the  only  one  which  seems  to  me  to  fulfill  all  these  condi- 
tions is  hunting.  If  hunting  is  ever  an  innocent  pleasure, 
if  it  is  ever  fitting  for  a  man,  it  is  now  that  we  must  have 
recourse  to  it.  ^mile  has  everything  necessary  for  success 
in  it  ;  he  is  robust,  dexterous,  patient,  indefatigable 
Without  fail  he  will  contract  a  taste  for  this  exercise ; 
he  will  throw  into  it  all  the  ardor  of  his  age  ;  for  a  time, 
at  least,  he  will  lose  in  it  all  the  dangerous  inclinations 
which  spring  from  idleness.  Hunting  toughens  the  heart 


238  EMILE. 

as  well  as  the  body;  it  accustoms  us  to  blood  and  to 
cruelty.  Diana  has  been  represented  as  the  enemy  of  love, 
and  the  allegory  is  very  appropriate.  The  languors  of 
love  spring  only  from  a  pleasing  repose  ;  violent  exercise 
suppresses  tender  emotions. 

Never  employ  dry  reasoning  with  the  young ;  therefore 
clothe  reason  with  a  body,  if  you  would  make  it  effect- 
ive. Cause  the  language  of  the  intellect  to  pass  through 
the  heart,  in  order  that  you  may  make  it  understood.  I 
repeat  it,  cold  arguments  may  determine  our  opinions,  but 
not  our  actions  ;  they  cause  us  to  believe,  but  not  to  act ; 
we  demonstrate  what  must  be  thought,  but  not  what  must 
be  done.  If  this  is  true  for  men  in  general,  it  is  all  the 
more  true  for  young  men  who  are  still  enveloped  in  their 
senses,  and  who  think  only  as  they  imagine. 

I  shall  carefully  refrain,  therefore,  even  after  the  prep- 
arations of  which  I  have  spoken,  from  going  suddenly 
into  Emile's  chamber  to  treat  him  to  a  long  and  dull  dis 
course  on  the  subject  designed  for  his  instruction.  I  will 
begin  by  arousing  his  imagination  ;  I  will  choose  the  time, 
the  place,  and  the  objects  most  favorable  for  the  impres- 
sion which  I  wish  to  make ;  I  will  summon  the  whole  of 
Nature,  so  to  speak,  to  witness  our  conferences ;  I  will  call 
the  Eternal,  whose  work  Nature  is,  to  witness  the  truth  of 
what  I  shall  say ;  I  will  make  him  the  judge  between 
Emile  and  myself ;  I  will  mark  the  place  where  we  are,  the 
rocks,  the  woods,  and  the  mountains  which  surround  us,  as 
so  many  monuments  to  his  engagements  and  my  own  ; 
and  in  my  eyes,  my  accent,  and  my  gestures,  I  will  put  the 
enthusiasm  and  ardor  with  which  I  wish  to  inspire  him. 
Then  I  shall  speak  to  him,  and  he  will  hear  me ;  I  shall  grow 
tender,  and  he  will  be  moved.  By  impressing  myself  with 
the  sanctity  of  my  duties  I  shall  give  him  a  greater  respect 
for  his  own,  I  will  employ  images  and  figures  to  give  ani- 


EMILE  FROM   FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  239 

mation  and  force  to  my  reasoning.  I  will  not  be  tedious 
and  diffuse  by  the  use  of  lifeless  maxims,  but  will  abound 
in  overflowing  emotions.  My  reasoning  will  be  grave  and 
sententious,  but  my  heart  will  never  have  said  enough.  It 
is  then,  while  showing  him  all  I  have  done  for  him,  that 
I  shall  show  it  to  him  as  done  for  myself,  and  he  will  see 
in  my  tender  affection  the  reason  of  all  my  cares.  What 
surprise,  what  agitation  I  shall  cause  him  by  this  sudden 
change  in  my  manner  of  speech  !  Instead  of  contracting 
his  soul  by  always  speaking  to  him  of  his  own  interest,  it  is 
of  mine  alone  that  I  shall  henceforth  speak  to  him,  and  I 
shall  affect  him  the  more  by  it.  I  shall  make  his  young 
heart  burn  with  all  the  feelings  of  friendship,  generosity, 
and  gratitude  which  I  have  already  caused  to  spring  up 
there,  and  which  are  so  sweet  to  cherish.  I  will  press 
him  to  my  heart  while  shedding  over  him  tears  of  tender- 
ness, and  I  will  say  to  him :  "  You  are  my  all,  my  child, 
my  workmanship  ;  it  is  from  your  happiness  that  I  expect 
my  own ;  if  you  frustrate  my  hopes,  you  rob  me  of  twenty 
years  of  life,  and  becloud  my  old  age  with  unhappiness." 
It  is  thus  that  we  make  ourselves  heard  by  a  young  man, 
and  engrave  in  the  depths  of  his  heart  the  remembrance 
of  what  we  have  told  him. 

If  I  have  been  able  to  take  all  the  necessary  precau- 
tions in  the  use  of  these  maxims,  and  to  hold  with  my 
Emile  the  conversations  adapted  to  the  juncture  to  which 
his  progress  in  years  has  brought  him,  I  do  not  doubt  for 
an  instant  that  he  will  come  of  himself  to  the  point  where 
I  wish  to  lead  him ;  that  he  will  put  himself  with  eager- 
ness under  my  protection ;  and  that  he  will  say  to  me,  with 
all  the  warmth  of  his  age,  when  pressed  by  the  dangers 
which  he  sees  surrounding  him  :  "  0  my  friend,  my  pro- 
tector, my  master,  resume  the  authority  which  you  would 
lay  down  at  the  moment  when  it  most  concerns  me  that 


240  1SMILE. 

it  should  remain  with  you.  Thus  far  you  have  had  this 
authority  only  through  my  weakness,  but  you  shall 
henceforth  have  it  through  my  will,  and  it  shall  be  the 
more  sacred  to  me  on  this  account.  Protect  me  from  all 
the  enemies  who  assail  me,  and  especially  from  those  whom 
I  carry  with  me  and  who  betray  me.  Watch  over  your 
work  to  the  end,  that  it  may  remain  worthy  of  you.  It  is 
my  constant  wish  to  obey  your  laws,  and  this  forever.  If 
I  ever  disobey  you,  it  will  be  against  my  will.  Make  me 
free  by  protecting  me  against  the  passions  which  assail 
me ;  prevent  me  from  being  their  slave,  and  compel  me  to 
be  my  own  master  by  not  obeying  my  senses,  but  my  rea- 
son." 

When  you  have  brought  your  pupil  to  this  point  (and 
if  he  does  not  come  to  it  it  will  be  your  fault),  be  on  your 
guard  against  taking  him  too  quickly  at  his  word,  for  fear 
that,  if  your  control  should  ever  seem  to  him  too  harsh, 
he  might  think  himself  entitled  to  escape  from  it  by  ac- 
cusing you  of  having  taken  him  by  surprise.  It  is  at  this 
moment  that  reserve  and  gravity  are  in  place ;  and  this 
tone  will  affect  him  all  the  more  because  it  will  be  the 
first  occasion  on  which  he  will  have  seen  you  assume  it. 

How  narrow  one  must  be  to  see  in  the  nascent  desires 
of  a  young  man  only  an  obstacle  to  the  lessons  of  reason ! 
As  for  myself,  I  see  in  them  the  true  means  of  making 
him  docile  to  these  very  lessons.  We  have  no  hold  on  the 
passions  save  through  the  passions ;  it  is  through  their 
empire  that  we  must  make  war  on  their  tyranny,  and  it  is 
always  from  Nature  herself  that  we  must  draw  the  instru- 
ments proper  for  controlling  her. 

Emile  is  not  made  for  living  always  in  solitude ;  as  a 
member  of  society  he  ought  to  fulfill  its  duties.  Made  to 
live  with  men,  he  ought  to  know  them.  He  knows  men 
in  general,  and  it  remains  for  him  to  know  them  as  in- 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  241 

dividuals.  He  knows  what  is  done  in  the  world,  and  it 
remains  for  him  to  see  how  men  live  in  it.  It  is  time  to 
show  him  the  exterior  of  that  grand  stage  whose  concealed 
workings  he  already  knows.  He  will  no  longer  entertain 
for  it  the  stupid  admiration  of  a  young  rattle-brain,  but 
the  discernment  of  an  upright,  an  accurate  mind.  His 
passions  will  be  able  to  impose  on  him,  doubtless ;  but 
when  will  it  happen  that  they  do  not  impose  on  those  who 
abandon  themselves  to  them  ?  But  at  least  he  will  not  be 
deceived  by  the  passions  of  others.  If  he  sees  them,  he 
will  see  them  with  the  eye  of  a  sage,  without  being  influ- 
enced by  their  examples  or  seduced  by  their  prejudices. 

As  there  is  a  proper  age  for  the  study  of  the  sciences, 
there  is  also  one  for  properly  apprehending  the  use  of  the 
world.  Whoever  learns  this  use  too  young  follows  it  all 
his  life  without  choice  or  reflection,  and,  although  with 
self-conceit,  without  ever  really  knowing  what  he  does ; 
but  he  who  learns  it  and  sees  the  reasons  of  it,  follows  it 
with  more  discernment,  and  consequently  with  more  pro- 
priety and  grace.  Give  me  a  child  of  twelve  years  who 
knows  nothing  at  all,  and  at  fifteen  I  will  guarantee  to 
make  him  as  wise  as  he  whom  you  have  instructed  from 
infancy ;  but  with  this  difference,  that  the  knowledge  of 
your  pupil  will  be  only  in  his  memory,  while  that  of  mine 
will  be  in  his  judgment.  So  also,  introduce  a  young  man 
of  twenty  into  the  world ;  if  well  trained,  he  will  in  one 
year  be  more  amiable  and  more  judiciously  polished  than 
he  whom  you  have  reared  there  from  infancy ;  for  the 
first,  being  capable  of  feeling  the  reasons  of  all  the  pro- 
cedures relative  to  age,  condition,  and  sex,  which  constitute 
this  usage,  can  reduce  them  to  principles  and  extend  them 
to  unforeseen  cases ;  whereas  the  other,  having  only  rou- 
tine for  his  sole  guide,  is  embarrassed  the  moment  there  is 
a  departure  from  it. 


242  13M1LE. 

It  is  true,  on  the  other  hand,  that  we  must  not  wait 
too  long.  Whoever  has  passed  all  his  youth  at  a  distance 
from  cultivated  society  will  maintain  there  for  the  rest 
of  his  life  an  air  of  embarrassment  and  restraint,  a  style 
of  conversation  that  is  always  inappropriate,  and  dull  and 
awkward  manners  which  the  habit  of  living  there  no 
longer  corrects,  and  which  become  only  the  more  ridicu- 
lous by  the  effort  to  escape  from  them.  Each  kind  of  in- 
struction has  its  fit  time  which  must  be  known,  and  its 
dangers  which  must  be  avoided.  There  are  special  dan- 
gers clustering  around  the  subject  in  hand ;  but  I  shall 
not  expose  my  pupil  to  them  without  taking  precautions 
to  shield  him  from  them. 

Your  heart,  I  say  to  the  young  man,  has  need  of  a 
companion,  and  we  are  going  to  look  for  one  who  is  suit- 
able for  you.  We  shall  not  find  her  easily,  perhaps,  for 
true  merit  is  always  rare ;  but  we  shall  neither  be  in  haste 
nor  discouraged.  Doubtless  there  is  such  an  one,  and  we 
shall  at  last  find  her,  or  at  least  one  who  approaches  our 
ideal  the  nearest.  With  a  project  so  flattering  for  him, 
I  introduce  him  into  society.  What  need  have  I  to  say 
more  of  it?  Do  you  not  see  that  I  have  done  all  that  is 
necessary  ? 

In  describing  to  him  the  lady  whom  I  destined  for 
him,  imagine  whether  I  shall  be  able  to  make  myself 
heard  on  the  subject ;  whether  I  can  make  agreeable  and 
dear  to  him  the  qualities  which  he  ought  to  love ;  whether 
I  shall  be  able  to  bring  all  his  feelings  into  conformity 
with  what  he  ought  to  seek  or  shun.  I  must  be  the 
most  unskillful  of  men  if  I  do  not  make  him  enamored 
in  advance  without  knowing  the  object  of  his  affections. 
It  does  not  matter  that  the  object  which  I  picture  to  him 
is  imaginary ;  it  suffices  that  it  disgusts  him  with  those 
who  might  tempt  him,  and  that  he  everywhere  finds  com- 


FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  243 

parisons  which  make  him  prefer  his  dream  to  the  real 
objects  which  will  excite  his  attention.  What  is  real 
love  itself,  if  not  a  dream,  a  fiction,  an  illusion  ?  "We  love 
the  picture  which  we  form  much  more  than  the  object  to 
which  we  apply  it.  If  we  saw  what  we  love  exactly  as  it 
is,  there  would  no  longer  be  any  love  in  the  world.  When 
we  cease  to  love,  the  person  whom  we  loved  remains  the 
same  as  before,  but  we  no  longer  see  her  the  same.  The 
veil  of  delusion  falls,  and  love  vanishes.  Now,  by  fur- 
nishing the  imaginary  object,  I  am  the  master  of  compar- 
isons, and  easily  prevent  the  illusion  of  real  objects. 

For  this  purpose  I  do  not  wish  the  young  man  to  be 
deceived  by  painting  for  him  a  model  of  perfection  which 
can  not  exist ;  but  I  will  so  choose  the  faults  of  his  sweet- 
heart that  they  befit  him,  please  him,  and  serve  to  correct 
his  own.  Xor  do  I  wish  to  deceive  him  by  falsely  assert- 
ing that  the  object  depicted  to  him  really  exists ;  but  if 
he  is  pleased  with  the  picture,  it  will  soon  make  him  wish 
for  the  original. 

But  whether  he  personify  or  not  the  object  which  I 
shall  have  made  endearing  to  him,  this  model,  if  it  is 
well  conceived,  will  not  attach  him  the  less  to  whatever 
resembles  it,  and  will  give  him  no  less  repulsion  for  what- 
ever does  not  resemble  it  than  as  if  the  object  were  real. 
What  an  advantage  to  preserve  his  heart  from  the  dan- 
gers to  which  his  person  must  be  exposed,  to  restrain  his 
senses  through  his  imagination,  and  especially  to  rescue 
him  from  those  mistresses  of  education  who  make  it  so 
costly,  and  who  train  a  young  man  to  politeness  only  by 
divesting  him  of  all  his  honor !  Sophie  is  so  modest ! 
How  will  he  view  their  advances  ?  Sophie  has  such  sim- 
plicity !  How  will  he  love  their  airs  ?  There  is  too  great 
a  distance  between  his  ideals  and  his  observations  for 
the  latter  ever  to  be  dangerous  to  him. 


244 

You  can  not  imagine  how  Emile,  at  the  age  of 'twenty, 
can  be  docile.  How  different  our  ideas  are  !  As  for  me, 
I  can  not  conceive  how  he  could  be  docile  at  ten ;  for 
what  hold  had  I  on  him  at  that  age?  It  cost  me  the 
cares  of  fifteen  years  to  secure  that  hold.  I  was  not  then 
educating  him,  but  was  preparing  him  for  being  edu- 
cated. He  is  now  sufficiently  trained  to  be  docile;  he 
recognizes  the  voice  of  friendship,  and  can  be  obedient  to 
reason.  I  grant  to  him,  it  is  true,  the  appearance  of 
independence ;  but  he  was  never  in  more  complete  sub- 
jection, for  his  obedience  is  the  result  of  his  will.  So 
long  as  I  could  not  make  myself  the  master  of  his  will 
I  remained  master  of  his  person ;  I  did  not  take  a  step 
from  him.  Now  I  sometimes  leave  him  to  himself, 
because  I  always  govern  him.  On  leaving  him,  I  em- 
brace him,  and  say  to  him  with  an  air  of  assurance  : 
"  Emile,  I  confide  you  to  my  friend ;  I  intrust  you  to  his 
honest  heart,  and  he  will  be  accountable  to  me  for  you." 

What  precautions  to  be  taken  with  a  young  man  of 
good  birth,  before  exposing  him  to  the  scandalous  man- 
ners of  the  times !  These  precautions  are  painful,  but 
they  are  indispensable;  it  is  through  neglect  on  this 
point  that  so  many  of  the  young  are  lost.  It  is  through 
the  disorders  of  early  life  that  men  degenerate,  and  that 
we  see  them  become  what  they  are  to-day. 

In  whatever  station  he  may  have  been  born,  and  into 
whatever  society  he  may  begin  to  introduce  himself,  his 
first  appearance  shall  be  simple  and  without  display. 
God  forbid  that  he  shall  be  so  unfortunate  as  to  shine 
there !  The  qualities  which  instantly  attract  attention 
are  not  his ;  he  neither  has  them  nor  wishes  to  have  them. 
He  sets  too  little  value  on  the  judgments  of  men  to  incur 
their  prejudices,  and  is  not  at  all  anxious  to  be  esteemed 
before  being  known.  His  manner  of  presenting  himself 


EMILE  FROM  FIFTEEN   TO  TWENTY.  245 

is  neither  modest  nor  vain,  but  natural  and  true.  He 
knows  neither  constraint  nor  disguise,  and  is  the  same  in 
society  as  when  alone  and  without  witness.  On  this 
account-  will  he  be  rude,  scornful,  and  attentive  to  no 
one  ?  Just  the  contrary.  If,  alone,  he  takes  no  account 
whatever  of  other  men,  does  it  follow  that  he  should  take 
no  account  of  them  while  living  with  them  ?  He  indi- 
cates no  preference  for  them  over  himself  in  his  manners, 
because  he  does  not  prefer  them  in  his  heart ;  but,  on  the 
other  hand,  he  does  not  treat  them  with  an  indifference 
which  he  is  very  far  from  feeling ;  if  he  has  not  the  for- 
malities of  politeness,  he  has  the  active  instincts  of  human- 
ity. He  does  not  love  to  see  any  one  suffer.  He  will  not 
offer  his  place  to  another  through  affectation,  but  will 
yield  it  to  him  voluntarily  through  goodness  of  heart,  if, 
seeing  him  neglected,  he  thinks  that  this  neglect  morti- 
fies him ;  for  it  will  cost  my  young  man  less  to  remain 
standing  voluntarily  than  to  see  the  other  remain  stand- 
ing by  compulsion. 

He  speaks  little,  because  he  hardly  cares  to  occupy 
the  attention  of  others ;  for  the  same  reason,  he  says 
only  things  that  are  of  some  importance ;  otherwise,  what 
excuse  has  he  for  engaging  in  conversation?  Emile  is 
too  wise  ever  to  be  a  babbler.  Excessive  prattle  neces- 
sarily comes  either  from  pretension  to  wit — of  which  I 
shall  speak  hereafter — or  from  the  value  put  on  trifles 
which  we  are  silly  enough  to  think  are  valued  as  highly 
by  others  as  by  ourselves.  He  who  has  such  a  knowl- 
edge of  things  as  to  give  to  all  of  them  their  real  value, 
never  speaks  too  much,  for  he  can  also  appreciate  the 
attention  which  is  given  him,  and  the  interest  which  can 
be  taken  in  his  conversation.  Generally  speaking,  people 
who  know  little  speak  much,  and  people  who  know  much 
speak  little.  It  is  plain  that  an  ignorant  man  thinks 


246 

everything  that  he  knows  is  important,  and  so  tells  it  to 
everybody.  But  a  wise  man  does  not  readily  open  his 
stores ;  he  will  have  too  much  to  say,  and  he  sees  that 
there  is  still  more  to  be  said  after  he  is  done,  and  so  he 
remains  silent.  Far  from  shocking  the  manners  of  others, 
Emile  conforms  to  them  with  good  grace ;  not  for  the 
sake  of  seeming  well  informed  in  social  usages,  nor  to 
affect  the  airs  of  a  polished  gentleman,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, for  the  sake  of  escaping  notice,  for  fear  that  he 
may  be  observed ;  and  he  is  never  more  at  ease  than  when 
no  one  is  paying  attention  to  him. 

Although,  on  entering  society,  he  is  in  absolute  igno- 
rance of  its  usages,  he  is  no'.,  on  this  account  timid  and 
nervous.  If  he  keeps  in  the  background,  it  is  not  through 
embarrassment,  but  because  in  order  to  see  well,  he  must 
not  be  seen ;  for  he  is  hardly  disturbed  by  what  people 
think  of  him,  and  ridicule  does  not  cause  him  the  least 
fear.  It  is  on  this  account  that,  always  being  calm  and 
cool,  he  is  not  troubled  by  bashfulness.  Whether  he  is 
observed  or  not,  whatever  he  does  is  always  the  very  best 
he  can  do ;  and  being  wholly  free  to  observe  others,  he 
catches  their  manners  with  an  ease  that  is  not  possible 
to  the  slaves  of  opinion.  We  may  say  that  he  learns  the 
habity  of  society  the  more  readily,  precisely  because  he 
sets  but  little  value  on  them. 

I  grant  that  with  principles  so  different,  Emile  will 
not  be  like  other  people,  and  may  God  preserve  him  from 
ever  being  so !  But  in  so  far  as  he  is  different  from 
others  he  will  be  neither  disagreeable  nor  ridiculous ;  the 
difference  will  be  felt,  but  will  occasion  no  inconvenience. 
Emile  will  be,  if  you  please,  an  amiable  foreigner,  and 
at  first  his  peculiarities  will  be  pardoned  by  saying  :  "  He 
will  outgrow  all  that ! "  In  the  end,  people  will  become 
wvfectly  accustomed  to  his  manners,  and,  seeing  that 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  247 

he  does  not  change  them,  he  will  again  be  pardoned  for 
them  by  saying :  "  He  was  made  so ! " 

He  will  not  be  feted  in  society  as  a  popular  man,  but 
people  will  love  him  without  knowing  why.  No  one  will 
extol  his  understanding,  but  he  will  readily  be  accepted 
as  an  umpire  among  men  of  genius  ;  his  own  comprehen- 
sion will  be  clear  and  limited,  and  he  will  have  good 
sense  and  sound  judgment.  Never  running'  after  new 
ideas,  he  could  not  pride  himself  on  his  wit.  I  have 
made  him  feel  that  all  ideas  which  are  wholesome  and 
truly  useful  to  men  are  the  first  that  were  known,  that 
they  have  ever  constituted  the  true  bonds  of  society,  and 
that  all  that  is  left  for  transcendent  minds  to  do  is  to 
distinguish  themselves  by  ideas  which  are  pernicious  and 
dangerous  to  the  human  race.*  This  manner  of  gain- 
ing admiration  scarcely  affects  him ;  he  knows  where  he 
ought  to  find  the  happiness  of  his  life,  and  in  what  way 
he  can  contribute  to  the  happiness  of  others.  The  sphere 
of  his  knowledge  does  not  extend  beyond  what  is  profit- 
able. His  route  is  straight  and  well  defined.  Not  being 
tempted  to  step  aside  from  it,  he  is  lost  among  those 
who  follow  it.  He  aims  neither  at  eccentricity  nor  brill- 
iancy. Emile  is  a  man  of  good  sense,  and  wishes  to  be 
nothing  else ;  any  attempt  to  hurt  his  feelings  by  this 
title  will  be  in  vain,  for  he  will  always  think  himself 
honored  by  it. 

Although  the  desire  to  please  does  not  leave  him 
absolutely  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  others,  he  will 
accept  only  so  much  of  that  opinion  as  relates  directly 
to  his  own  person,  without  caring  for  those  arbitrary 
appreciations  which  have  no  law  save  fashion  or  preju- 

*  This  is  good  philosophy,  but  has  a  strange  sound  when  uttered 
by  Rousseau. — (P.) 


248 

dice.  He  will  have  the  pride  of  wishing  to  do  well  what- 
ever he  undertakes,  and  even  of  wishing  to  do  better  than 
others.  In  running  he  would  be  the  fleetest,  in  a  con- 
test the  strongest,  in  work  the  most  clever,  and  in  games 
of  skill  the  most  dexterous ;  but  he  will  care  little  for 
advantages  which  are  not  clear  in  themselves,  but  which 
need  to  be  established  by  the  judgment  of  others — as  of 
having  more  genius  than  another,  of  being  a  better  talker, 
of  being  more  learned,  etc. ;  still  less  those  which  become 
no  one,  as  of  being  better  born,  of  being  thought  richer, 
more  respectable,  more  highly  esteemed,  and  of  overawing 
by  a  grander  display. 

Loving  men  because  they  are  his  fellows,  he  will  love 
those  in  particular  who  resemble  him  the  most,  because 
he  will  feel  that  he  is  good ;  and  judging  of  this  resem- 
blance by  conformity  of  taste  in  things  moral,  in  what- 
ever pertains  to  a  good  character  he  will  be  very  glad  to 
be  approved.  He  will  not  say  exactly  that  he  rejoices 
because  people  approve  him,  but  that  he  rejoices  because 
people  approve  the  good  he  has  done  ;  and  that  he  rejoices 
because  the  people  who  honor  him  honor  themselves  in 
doing  it.  So  long  as  they  judge  in  this  wholesome  way, 
it  will  be  a  fine  thing  to  obtain  their  esteem. 

Studying  men  through  their  manners  in  society,  just 
as  he  previously  studied  them  through  their  passions  in 
history,  he  will  often  have  occasion  to  reflect  on  what 
gratifies  or  shocks  the  human  heart.  In  this  way  he 
philosophizes  on  the  principles  of  taste,  and  this  is  the 
study  that  is  proper  for  him  during  this  period. 

If,  in  order  to  cultivate  the  taste  of  my  disciple,  I 
had  to  choose  between  countries  where  this  culture  is  yet 
to  be  born  and  others  where  it  has  degenerated,  I  would 
follow  the  retrograde  order :  I  would  begin  his  round 
with  the  latter  and  finish  it  with  the  former.  The  reason 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO  TWENTY.  249 

of  this  choice  is  that  taste  is  corrupted  by  an  excessive 
delicacy,  which  makes  us  sensitive  to  things  which  the 
most  of  mankind  do  not  perceive.  This  refinement  leads 
to  the  spirit  of  discussion,  for  the  more  we  subtilize  ob- 
jects the  more  they  are  multiplied;  and  this  subtilty 
makes  the  tact  more  delicate  and  less  uniform.  Then 
there  are  formed  as  many  tastes  as  there  are  minds.  In 
disputes  as  to  the  preference,  philosophy  and  learning  are 
exhausted ;  and  it  is  in  this  way  that  we  learn  to  think 
that  shrewd  observations  can  hardly  be  made  save  by 
people  who  are  much  in  society,  whereas  they  occur  after- 
ward to  all  the  others,  and  people  who  are  little  accus- 
tomed to  large  assemblies  there  exhaust  their  attention 
on  the  more  obvious  features.  At  this  moment  there  is 
perhaps  no  civilized  place  on  the  globe  where  the  general 
taste  is  as  bad  as  in  Paris.  And  yet  it  is  in  this  capital 
that  good  taste  is  cultivated ;  and  there  appear  but  few 
books  esteemed  in  Europe  whose  author  was  not  trained 
in  Paris.  Those  who  think  it  suffices  to  read  the  books 
which  are  written  there  are  deceived,  we  learn  much  more 
from  the  conversation  of  authors  than  from  their  books ; 
and  the  authors  themselves  are  not  those  from  whom  we 
learn  the  most.  It  is  the  spirit  of  society  which  develops 
the  thinking  mind  and  extends  the  view  as  far  as  it  can 
go.  If  you  have  a  spark  of  genius,  come  and  spend  a 
year  in  Paris;  you  will  soon  be  all  you  are  capable  of 
being,  or  you  will  never  be  anything. 

I  will  go  to  still  greater  lengths  in  order  to  secure  to 
him  a  taste  that  is  pure  and  wholesome.  In  the  tumult 
of  dissipation  I  shall  hold  carefully  arranged  conversa- 
tions with  him,  and  always  directing  them  to  objects 
which  please  him,  I  shall  be  careful  to  make  them  both 
amusing  and  instructive.  This  is  the  time  for  reading 
and  for  agreeable  books,  the  time  to  teach  him  to  make 


250  fiMILE. 

an  analysis  of  a  discourse,  and  to  make  him  sensible 
to  all  the  beauties  of  eloquence  and  diction.  It  is  of 
little  account  to  learn  languages  for  themselves,  for  their 
use  is  not  so  important  as  we  think ;  but  the  study  of 
language  leads  to  the  study  of  general  grammar.  We 
must  learn  Latin  in  order  to  know  French  well ;  and  we 
must  study  and  compare  both  in  order  to  understand  the 
rules  of  the  art  of  speaking. 

There  is,  moreover,  a  certain  simplicity  of  taste  which 
penetrates  the  heart  and  which  is  found  only  in  the  writings 
of  the  ancients.  In  oratory,  in  poetry,  in  every  species  of 
literature,  he  will  find  them,  just  as  in  history,  abundant 
in  matter  and  sober  in  judgment.  Our  authors,  on  the 
contrary,  say  little  and  talk  much.  To  be  ever  giving 
their  judgment  for  law  is  not  the  means  of  forming  our 
own.  The  difference  between  the  two  tastes  is  visible  on 
monuments,  and  even  on  tombstones.  Ours  are  covered 
with  eulogies,  while  on  those  of  the  ancients  we  read 
facts : 

Sta,  viator  ;  heroem  calcas. 

In  general,  Emile  will  contract  a  greater  taste  for 
the  books  of  the  ancients  than  for  our  own,  on  the  sim- 
ple ground  that,  being  the  first,  the  ancients  are  nearer 
to  Nature,  and  have  more  native  genius.  Whatever  La 
Motte  and  the  Abbe  Terrasson  may  say  to  the  contrary, 
there  is  no  real  progress  in  reason  in  the  human  race, 
because  what  is  gained  on  the  one  hand  is  lost  on  the 
other  ;  for  as  all  minds  always  start  from  the  same  point, 
and  as  the  time  spent  in  learning  what  others  have 
thought  is  lost  for  teaching  one's  self  how  to  think,  we 
have  more  acquired  knowledge  and  less  vigor  of  mind. 
Our  minds,  like  our  hands,  are  trained  to  do  everything 
with  tools,  and  nothing  by  themselves.  Fontenelle  said 
that  all  this  dispute  on  the  ancients  and  moderns  reduced 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  251 

itself  to  knowing  whether  the  trees  of  former  times  were 
taller  than  those  of  to-day.  If  there  had  been  a  change 
in  agriculture  this  question  would  not  be  an  improper  one 
to  discuss. 

After  having  thus  ascended  to  the  sources  of  pure 
literature,  I  show  him  also  their  outlets  in  the  reservoirs 
of  modern  compilations — newspapers,  translations,  dic- 
tionaries. He  throws  a  glance  over  all  this,  and  then  he 
leaves  it  never  to  return  to  it.  For  his  amusement  I 
make  him  listen  to  the  babble  of  the  academies ;  I  call 
his  attention  to  the  fact  that  each  of  the  members  alone 
is  always  worth  more  than  the  whole  body ;  and  thence 
he  will  draw  an  inference  as  to  the  utility  of  those  noble 
establishments. 

I  take  Emile  to  the  theatre  in  order  to  study,  not 
manners,  but  taste ;  for  it  is  there,  in  particular,  that  he 
will  be  presented  to  those  who  know  how  to  reflect.  Let 
alone  precepts  and  ethics,  I  will  say  to  him ;  it  is  not 
here  that  he  is  to  learn  them.  The  theatre  is  not  made 
for  truth,  but  to  please  and  amuse  men ;  there  is  no 
school  where  we  learn  so  well  the  art  of  pleasing  them 
and  of  interesting  the  human  heart.  The  study  of  the 
theatre  leads  to  that  of  poetry;  they  have  exactly  the 
same  object.  If  he  has  the  least  spark  of  taste  for  poetry, 
with  what  pleasure  he  will  cultivate  the  languages  of 
poets — the  Greek,  the  Latin,  and  the  Italian !  These 
studies  will  be  amusements  for  him  without  constraint, 
and  will  profit  him  only  the  more  for  it.  They  will  be 
delicious  to  him  at  an  age  and  in  circumstances  when  the 
heart  is  interested  so  charmingly  in  all  varieties  of  beauty 
calculated  to  touch  it.  Imagine  on  one  side  my  Emile, 
and  on  the  other  a  college  blade,  reading  the  fourth 
book  of  the  j3Zneid,  or  Tibullus,  or  the  Banquet  of  Plato. 
What  a  difference  !  How  the  heart  of  one  is  stirred  by 


252  fiMILE. 

that  which  does  not  even  affect  the  other !  0  choice 
young  man !  pause,  suspend  your  reading,  for  I  observe 
that  you  are  too  much  affected.  It  is  my  earnest  wish 
that  the  language  of  love  may  please  you,  but  not  that  it 
mislead  you.  Be  a  man  of  feeling,  but  be  a  wise  man. 
If  you  are  but  one  of  these,  you  are  nothing.  Moreover, 
whether  he  succeed  or  not  in  the  dead  languages,  in  the 
belles-lettres,  or  in  poetry,  matters  but  little  to  me.  He  will 
be  worth  none  the  less  if  he  knows  nothing  of  all  this,  and 
we  have  to  do  with  none  of  this  nonsense  in  his  education. 

My  principal  object  in  teaching  him  to  feel  and  to 
love  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms  is  to  fix  on  it  his  affec- 
tions and  his  tastes,  to  prevent  his  natural  appetites  from 
becoming  corrupted,  and  to  prevent  him  from  some  day 
seeking  in  his  riches  the  means  of  happiness  which  he 
ought  to  find  within  himself.  I  have  said  elsewhere  *  that 
taste  is  but  the  art  of  discerning  the  value  of  little  things, 
and  this  is'  very  true ;  but  since  the  happiness  of  life  de- 
pends on  the  contexture  of  little  things,  such  concerns 
are  far  from  being  unimportant ;  for  it  is  through  them 
that  we  learn  to  fill  up  life  with  the  good  things  placed 
within  our  reach,  to  the  full  extent  of  the  truth  which 
they  may  have  for  us.  I  do  not  here  mean  moral  good, 
which  depends  on  a  happy  frame  of  the  soul,  but  only 
physical  good  and  real  pleasure,  leaving  out  of  account 
the  prejudices  of  opinion. 

In  order  to  develop  my  thought  the  better,  allow  me 
to  leave  Emile  for  a  moment,  whose  pure  and  wholesome 
heart  can  no  longer  serve  as  a  rule  for  any  one,  and  to 
seek  in  myself  a  more  obvious  and  familiar  example  of 
the  manners  which  I  wish  to  commend  to  the  reader,  f 

*  Lettre  a  d'Alembert. 

f  What  follows  is  characteristic  of  Rousseau's  mind  and  heart — 


EMILE   FROM   FIFTEEN   TO   TWENTY.  253 

There  are  positions  which  seem  to  change  our  nature, 
and  to  recast,  for  better  or  for  worse,  the  men  who  fill 
them.  I  have  thought  a  hundred  times  that  if  I  had  the 
misfortune  to-day  to  fill  such  a  position  as  I  have  in  mind, 
in  a  certain  country,  to-morrow  I  should  be  almost  inevi- 
tably a  tyrant,  an  extortioner,  a  destroyer  of  the  people,  a 
menace  to  the  prince,  an  enemy  by  profession  of  the 
whole  human  race,  a  foe  to  all  equity  and  to  every  species 
of  virtue. 

So  also,  if  I  were  rich,  I  should  have  done  whatever 
was  necessary  to  become  such.  I  should  therefore  be 
insolent  and  mean,  tender-hearted  and  sensitive  for  myself 
alone,  pitiless  and  harsh  for  all  the  world,  a  scornful  wit- 
ness of  the  miseries  of  the  rabble.  I  should  make  of  my 
fortune  the  instrument  of  my  pleasures,  and  these  would 
be  my  sole  occupation. 

From  that  boundless  profusion  of  good  things  which 
cover  the  earth  I  should  seek  whatever  is  most  agreeable 
to  me,  and  which  I  can  the  best  appropriate  to  my  use. 
To  this  end,  the  first  use  I  should  make  of  my  riches 
would  be  to  purchase  leisure  and  liberty,  to  which  I  should 
add  health  if  it  were  to  be  bought;  but  as  it  can  be 
bought  only  with  temperance,  and  as  there  is  no  pleasure 
in  life  without  it,  I  should  be  temperate  for  sensual 
reasons. 

I  would  always  keep  as  near  to  Nature  as  possible  in 
order  to  humor  the  senses  which  I  have  received  from 
her,  very  sure  that  the  more  of  herself  that  is  added  to  my 
enjoyments  the  more  of  reality  I  should  find  in  them. 

his  ideal,  in  brief,  of  happiness  in  this  world.  It  is  almost  auto- 
biographic, for  it  reproduces  memories  of  some  of  his  happiest 
moments.  He  was  addicted  to  meditation,  was  shy  of  society,  loved 
solitude  and  simple  pleasures,  was  a  man  of  the  people,  and  a  foe  to 
oppression  in  all  its  forms. — (P.) 


254  SMILE. 

In  the  choice  of  objects  for  imitation  I  should  always 
take  her  for  my  model ;  in  my  appetites  I  would  give  her 
the  preference  ;  in  my  tastes  I  would  always  consult  her ; 
and  in  my  viands  I  should  always  prefer  those  which  she 
has  made  the  most  toothsome,  and  which  have  passed 
through  the  fewest  hands  in  order  to  reach  my  table. 

For  the  same  reason  I  should  not  imitate  those  who, 
finding  nothing  good  save  where  they  are  not,  always 
place  the  seasons  in  contradiction  with  themselves,  and 
the  climate  in  contradiction  with  the  seasons ;  who,  seek- 
ing for  summer  in  winter  and  winter  in  summer,  would 
have  cold  in  Italy  and  heat  in  the  north.  For  my  part  I 
would  stay  in  my  place,  where  I  would  adopt  the  oppo- 
site course.  I  would  draw  from  a  season  whatever  was 
agreeable  in  it,  and  from  a  climate  all  that  was  peculiar 
to  it.  I  would  go  to  spend  the  summer  in  Naples  and 
the  winter  in  St.  Petersburg,  now  breathing  sweet  zephyrs, 
half  reclining  in  the  cool  grottoes  of  Tarentum,  and  now 
in  the  illumination  of  an  ice  palace,  out  of  breath  and 
fatigued  with  the  pleasures  of  a  ball. 

In  my  table  service  and  in  the  adornment  of  my 
apartments  I  would  imitate  the  variety  of  the  seasons  by 
the  use  of  simple  ornaments,  .and  I  would  draw  from 
each  all  the  delight  it  could  afford,  without  anticipating 
those  which  were  to  follow. 

In  order  to  be  well  served,  I  would  have  few  domestics. 
A  private  citizen  derives  more  real  service  from  a  single 
servant  than  a  duke  from  the  ten  gentlemen  who  sur- 
round him. 

I  would  not  have  a  palace  for  a  dwelling,  for  in  that 
palace  I  would  occupy  but  one  apartment.  Every  room 
in  common  belongs  to  no  one,  and  the  apartment  of  each 
of  my  household  would  be  as  foreign  to  me  as  that  of  my 
neighbor. 


EffiLE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO   TWENTY.  255 

My  furniture  should  be  as  simple  as  my  tastes.  I 
would  have  neither  picture-gallery  nor  library,  especially 
if  I  loved  books  and  were  a  judge  of  pictures.  I  should 
then  know  that  such  collections  are  never  complete,  and 
that  the  loss  of  what  is  lacking  in  them  occasions  more 
regret  than  to  have  nothing.  In  this  case  abundance 
causes  misery ;  there  is  not  a  collector  who  has  not  ex- 
perienced this. 

Play  is  not  an  amusement  for  a  rich  man,  but  the 
resource  of  an  idler;  and  my  pleasures  would  give  me 
too  much  employment  to  leave  me  much  time  to  be  so 
poorly  employed.  Being  solitary  and  poor,  I  do  not  play 
at  all,  save  sometimes  at  chess,  and  this  is  too  much. 
"\Ve  rarely  see  thinkers  who  take  much  pleasure  in  play, 
for  it  suspends  this  habit,  or  employs  it  in  dry  combina- 
tions, and  so  one  of  the  benefits,  and  perhaps  the  only 
one,  which  a  taste  for  the  sciences  has  produced,  is  to 
deaden  somewhat  this  sordid  passion. 

I  would  be  the  same  in  my  private  life  as  in  my  inter- 
course with  the  world.  I  would  have  my  fortune  diffuse 
comfort  everywhere,  and  never  create  a  sense  of  inequality. 
The  glitter  of  apparel  is  an  inconvenience  in  a  thousand 
respects.  To  preserve  among  men  all  possible  liberty,  I 
should  be  dressed  in  such  a  way  that  among  all  classes  I 
should  seem  in  my  place,  and  that  I  should  be  an  object 
of  remark  in  none. 

The  only  bond  between  me  and  my  associates  should 
be  mutual  attachment,  conformity  of  tastes,  and  fitness  of 
character.  I  would  enter  society  simply  as  a  man,  and 
not  as  a  man  of  wealth. 

We  are  never  so  ridiculous  as  when  acting  in  set 
forms.  He  who  can  vary  his  situations  and  his  pleasures 
effaces  to-day  the  impression  of  yesterday ;  he  may  go  for 
nobody  with  other  men ;  but  he  enjoys  life,  for  at  each 


256  fiMILE. 

hour  and  in  everything  he  is  his  own  master.  My  only 
set  form  shall  be  this :  in  each  situation  I  shall  not  busy 
myself  with  any  other,  and  I  shall  employ  each  day  on  its 
own  account,  independently  of  yesterday  or  of  to-morrow. 
As  I  would  be  one  with  the  people,  I  shall  be  a  country- 
man in  the  country,  and  when  I  talk  of  farming,  the 
peasant  will  not  laugh  at  me.  I  shall  not  go  and  build 
me  a  villa  in  the  country,  or  expect  in  the  solitude  of  some 
province  to  have  the  Tuileries  before  my  apartment.  On 
the  slope  of  some  pleasant  and  well-shaded  hill  I  would 
have  a  little  rustic  cottage,  a  white  house  with  green 
blinds ;  and  though  a  roof  of  thatch  is  the  best  for  all 
seasons,  I  should  prefer,  on  the  score  of  magnificence,  not 
the  gloomy  slate,  but  tile,  because  it  has  a  more  befitting 
and  pleasing  appearance  than  a  roof  of  thatch,  and,  besides, 
it  recalls  somewhat  the  happy  period  of  my  youth,  for  the 
houses  in  my  native  country  were  commonly  covered  with 
tile.  For  court-yard  I  would  have  a  poultry-yard,  and 
for  stable  a  cow-house,  in  order  to  have  milk,  cream, 
butter,  and  cheese,  of  which  I  am  very  fond.  My  garden 
I  would  devote  to  the  raising  of  vegetables,  and  for  a 
park  I  would  have  a  fine  orchard  like  the  one  which  I 
shall  mention  hereafter.  The  fruit,  at  the  service  of  all 
who  pass,  shall  be  neither  counted  nor  picked  by  my 
gardener ;  and  my  miserly  magnificence  shall  never  dis- 
play to  the  eye  superb  espaliers  which  one  dare  scarcely 
touch.  Now  this  slender  prodigality  would  cost  but  little, 
because  I  should  have  chosen  my  retreat  in  some  remote 
province,  poor  in  money  but  rich  in  food,  where  abundance 
and  poverty  prevail. 

There  I  would  bring  together  a  society,  more  select 
than  numerous,  of  friends  loving  pleasure  and  knowing 
how  to  find  it,  and  of  women  who  can  leave  their  chairs, 
take  part  in  rustic  sports,  and  sometimes,  instead  of  the 


£MILE  FROM  FIFTEEN  TO  TWENTY.  257 

netting-needle  and  cards,  use  the  line,  the  lime-twig,  the 
hay-rake,  and  the  vintage-basket.  There  all  the  manners 
of  the  city  would  be  forgotten,  and,  having  become  vil- 
lagers of  the  village,  we  should  find  ourselves  addicted  to 
hosts  of  different  amusements,  which  each  evening  would 
give  us  the  embarrassment  of  a  choice  for  the  morrow. 
Exercise  and  an  active  life  would  give  us  a  new  stomach  and 
new  tastes.  All  our  repasts  would  be  feasts,  more  pleas- 
ing by  their  abundance  than  by  their  delicacy.  Gayety, 
rustic  employments,  and  frolicsome  sports  are  the  prime 
cooks  of  the  world,  and  elaborate  stews  are  very  ridic- 
ulous to  people  who  have  been  up  and  doing  since  sun- 
rise. The  table  service  would  have  no  more  order  than 
elegance.  The  dining-room  would  be  everywhere — in  the 
garden,  in  a  boat,  under  a  tree,  and  sometimes  at  a  dis- 
tance, near  a  living  spring,  on  the  grass,  fresh  and  green, 
and  under  clusters  of  alders  and  hazels.  A  long  pro- 
cession of  happy  guests  would  carry  the  preparations  for 
the  feast  singing  as  they  went ;  the  grass  would  serve  for 
table  and  chairs,  the  rim  of  the  spring  for  a  buffet,  and  the 
dessert  would  hang  on  the  trees.  The  dishes  would  be 
served  without  order,  appetite  dispensing  with  manners; 
for  each  one,  openly  preferring  himself  to  others,  would 
find  good  what  every  other  one  also  preferred  for  himself. 
From  this  cordial  and  temperate  familiarity  would  spring, 
without  coarseness,  .insincerity,  or  constraint,  a  playful 
contest  a  hundred  times  more  charming  than  politeness, 
and  better  adapted  to  unite  human  hearts. 

The  objection  will  doubtless  be  made  that  such  amuse- 
ments are  within  the  reach  of  all  men,  and  that  one  does 
not  need  to  be  rich  to  enjoy  them.  This  is  precisely  thd 
point  I  wish  to  make.  We  have  pleasure  when  we  are 
willing  to  have  it.  It  is  opinion  alone  which  makes 
everything  difficult,  which  drives  happiness  from  us; 


258 

and  it  is  a  hundred  times  more  easy  to  be  happy  than  to 
appear  so.  A  man  of  taste  and  fond  of  pleasure  has  the 
necessary  riches  at  his  command :  all  he  needs  is  to  be 
free  and  his  own  master.  Whoever  enjoys  health  and  has 
the  necessaries  of  life,  is  rich  enough  if  he  plucks  from 
his  heart  the  things  which  are  made  good  by  opinion. 
This  is  the  aurea  mediocritas  of  Horace.  Men  who  are 
hoarding  their  wealth  should  therefore  look  for  some 
other  use  for  their  riches,  for  on  the  score  of  pleasure 
they  are  good  for  nothing.  Emile  will  not  know  all  this 
better  than  I  do ;  but  having  a  purer  and  sounder  heart 
he  will  feel  it  still  more,  and  all  his  observations  in  the 
world  will  only  confirm  him  in  this  belief. 

"While  passing  the  time  in  this  way  we  are  always 
looking  for  Sophie,  but  we  do  not  find  her.  It  were 
better  that  she  should  not  be  found  so  soon,  and  we 
have  been  looking  for  her  where  I  was  very  sure  she 
was  not.* 

Finally,  the  pressing  moment  comes.  It  is  time  to 
look  for  her  in  earnest,  for  fear  he  may  meet  one  whom 
he  will  take  for  her,  and  discover  his  mistake  too  late. 
Adieu  to  Paris,  therefore,  city  of  renown,  of  noise,  of 
smoke,  and  of  dirt,  where  women  no  longer  believe  in 
honor,  nor  men  in  virtue.  Adieu,  Paris.  As  we  are  look- 
ing for  love,  happiness,  and  innocence,  we  shall  never  be 
too  far  away  from  you. 

*  "  Who  can  find  a  virtuous  woman  f  for  her  price  is  far  above 
rubies."    Proverbs  xxxi,  10. 


BOOK  FIFTH. 

THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN. 

WE  have  now  reached  the  last  stage  of  youth,  but  we 
are  not  yet  at  the  denouement. 

It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone.  Emile  is  a  man. 
We  have  promised  him  a  companion,  and  she  must  be 
given  to  him.  This  companion  is  Sophie.  In  what 
region  is  her  abode?  Where  shall  we  find  her?  In 
order  to  find  her  we  must  know  her.  Let  us  first  know 
what  she  is,  and  then  we  shall  the  more  easily  determine 
the  place  where  she  dwells.  And  when  we  have  found  her 
all  will  not  yet  be  done.  "  Since  our  young  gentleman" 
says  Locke,  "  is  now  got  within  sight  of  matrimony,  it  is 
time  to  leave  him  to  his  mistress.1''  And  thereupon  he 
finishes  his  work.  For  myself,  who  have  not  the  honor 
to  educate  a  gentleman,  I  shall  refrain  from  imitating 
Locke  in  this  particular. 

Sophie  ought  to  be  a  woman,  as  Emile  is  a  man — that 
is,  she  should  have  whatever  is  befitting  the  constitution 
of  her  species  and  of  her  sex,  in  order  to  fill  her  place  in 
the  physical  and  moral  world.  Let  us  then  begin  by  ex- 
amining the  conformities  and  the  differences  between  her 
sex  and  ours. 

All  that  we  know  with  a  certainty  is  that  the  only 
thing  in  common  between  man  and  woman  is  the  species, 
and  that  they  differ  only  in  respect  of  sex.  Under  this 
20  059> 


260 

double  point  of  view  we  find  between  them  so  many  re- 
semblances and  so  many  contrasts,  that  it  is  perhaps  one 
of  the  wonders  of  Nature  that  she  could  make  two  beings 
so  similar  and  yet  constitute  them  so  differently. 

These  correspondences  and  these  differences  must 
needs  have  their  moral  effect.  This  consequence  is  ob- 
vious, is  in  conformity  with  experience,  and  shows  the 
vanity  of  the  disputes  as  to  the  superiority  or  the  equality 
of  the  sexes ;  as  if  each  of  them,  answering  the  ends  of 
Nature  according  to  its  particular  destination,  were  not 
more  perfect  on  that  account  than  if  it  bore  a  greater  re- 
semblance to  the  other !  With  respect  to  what  they  have 
in  common  they  are  equal ;  and  in  so  far  as  they  are 
different  they  are  not  capable  of  being  compared.  A 
perfect  man  and  a  perfect  woman  ought  no  more  to  re- 
semble each  other  in  mind  than  in  features ;  and  per- 
fection is  not  susceptible  of  greater  and  less. 

In  the  union  of  the  sexes  each  contributes  equally  toward 
the  common  end,  but  not  in  the  same  way.  Hence  arises 
the  first  assignable  difference  among  their  moral  relations. 
One  must  be  active  and  strong,  the  other  passive  and 
weak.  One  must  needs  have  power  and  will,  while  it 
suffices  that  the  other  have  little  power  of  resistance. 

This  principle  once  established,  it  follows  that  woman 
is  especially  constituted  to  please  man.  If  man  ought 
to  please  her  in  turn,  the  necessity  for  it  is  less  direct. 
His  merit  lies  in  his  power;  he  pleases  simply  because 
he  is  strong.  I  grant  that  this  is  not  the  law  of  love, 
but  it  is  the  law  of  Nature,  which  is  anterior  even  to  love. 

Plato,  in  his  Eepublic,  enjoins  the  same  exercises  on 
women  as  upon  men,  and  in  this  I  think  he  was  right. 
Having  excluded  private  families  from  his  ideal  state,  and 
not  knowing  what  to  do  with  the  women,  he  sees  himself 
compelled  to  make  men  of  them,  This  great  genius  had 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  261 

arranged  everything,  foreseen  everything,  and  had  antici- 
pated objections  which  perhaps  no  one  would  have  thought 
of  making  ;  but  he  has  poorly  resolved  one  which  has  been 
raised  against  him.  I  do  not  speak  of  that  ordained 
community  of  wives,  the  censure  of  which,  so  often  re- 
peated, proves  that  those  who  make  it  have  never  read 
him  ;  but  I  speak  of  that  civil  intermingling  which  every- 
where confounds  the  two  sexes  in  the  same  employments, 
the  same  duties,  and  can  not  fail  to  engender  the  most 
intolerable  abuses;  I  speak  of  that  subversion  of  the 
sweetest  feelings  of  nature,  sacrificed  to  an  artificial  feel- 
ing.which  can  not  exist  save  through  them.  Just  as 
though  a  natural  power  were  not  necessary  in  order  to 
form  conventional  ties !  As  though  the  love  we  have  for 
our  neighbors  were  not  the  basis  of  that  which  we  owe 
the  state !  As  though  it  were  not  through  the  little  com- 
munity, which  is  the  family,  that  the  heart  becomes 
attached  to  the  great !  And  as  though  it  were  not  the 
good  son,  the  good  husband,  and  the  good  father,  who 
makes  the  good  citizen  ! 

The  moment  it  is  demonstrated  that  man  and  woman 
are  not  and  ought  not  to  be  constituted  in  the  same  way, 
either  in  character  or  in  constitution,  it  follows  that  they 
ought  not  to  have  the  same  education.  In  following  the 
directions  of  Nature  they  ought  to  act  in  concert,  but 
they  ought  not  to  do  the  same  things ;  their  duties  have  a 
common  end,  but  the  duties  themselves  are  different,  and 
consequently  the  tastes  which  direct  them.  After  having 
tried  to  form  the  natural  man,  let  us  also  see,  in  order 
not  to  leave  our  work  incomplete,  how  the  woman  is  to  be 
formed  who  is  befitting  to  this  man. 

Would  you  always  be  well  guided  ?  Always  follow 
the  indications  of  Xature.  All  that  characterizes  sex 
ought  to  be  respected  or  established  by  her.  You  are 


262 

always  saying  that  women  have  faults  which  you  have 
not.  Your  pride  deceives  you.  They  would  be  faults  in 
you,  but  they  are  virtues  in  them  ;  and  everything  would 
not  go  so  well  if  they  did  not  have  them.  Prevent  these 
so-called  faults  from  degenerating,  but  beware  of  destroy- 
ing them. 

All  the  faculties  common  to  the  two  sexes  are  not  equal- 
ly divided,  but,  taken  as  a  whole,  they  offset  one  another. 
Woman  is  worth  more  as  a  woman,  but  less  as  a  man ; 
wherever  she  improves  her  rights  she  has  the  advantage, 
and  wherever  she  attempts  to  usurp  ours  she  remains 
inferior  to  us.  Only  exceptional  cases  can  be  urged 
against  this  general  truth — the  usual  mode  of  argument 
adopted  by  the  gallant  partisans  of  the  fair  sex. 

To  cultivate  in  women  the  qualities  of  the  men  and 
to  neglect  those  which  are  their  own  is,  then,  obviously  to 
work  to  their  detriment.  The  shrewd  among  them  see 
this  too  clearly  to  be  the  dupes  of  it.  In  trying  to  usurp 
our  advantages  they  do  not  abandon  their  own  ;  but  from 
this  it  comes  to  pass  that,  not  being  able  to  manage  both 
properly  on  account  of  their  incompatibility,  they  fall 
short  of  their  own  possibilities  without  attaining  to  ours, 
and  thus  lose  the  half  of  their  value.  Believe  me,  judi- 
cious mother,  do  not  make  of  your  daughter  a  good  man, 
as  though  to  give  the  lie  to  Nature,  but  make  of  her  a 
good  woman,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  she  will  be  worth 
more  for  herself  and  for  us. 

Does  it  follow  that  she  ought  to  be  brought  up  in 
complete  ignorance,  and  restricted  solely  to  the  duties  of 
the  household  ?  Shall  man  make  a  servant  of  his  com- 
panion ?  Shall  he  deprive  himself  of  the  greatest  charm 
of  society  ?  The  better  to  reduce  her  to  servitude,  shall 
he  prevent  her  from  feeling  anything  or  knowing  any- 
thing? Shall  he  make  of  her  a  real  automaton?  No, 


THE  EDUCATION  OP  WOMAN.  263 

doubtless.  Nature,  who  gives  to  women  a  mind  so  agree- 
able and  so  acute,  has  not  so  ordered:  On  the  contrary, 
she  would  have  them  think,  and  judge,  and  love,  and 
know,  and  cultivate  their  mind  as  they  do  their  form  : 
these  are  the  arms  which  she  gives  them  for  supplement- 
ing the  strength  which  they  lack,  and  for  directing  our 
own.  They  ought  to  learn  multitudes  of  things,  but  only 
those  which  it  becomes  them  to  know.  Whether  I  con- 
sider the  particular  destination  of  woman,  or  observe  her 
inclinations,  or  take  account  of  her  duties,  everything 
concurs  equally  to  indicate  to  me  the  form  of  education 
which  befits  her. 

On  the  good  constitution  of  mothers  depends,  in  the 
first  place,  that  of  children ;  on  the  care  of  women  de- 
pends the  early  education  of  men ;  and  on  women,  again, 
depend  their  manners,  their  passions,  their  tastes,  their 
pleasures,  and  even  their  happiness.  Thus  the  whole 
education  of  women  ought  to  be  relative  to  men.  To 
please  them,  to  be  useful  to  them,  to  make  themselves 
loved  and  honored  by  them,  to  educate  them  when  young, 
to  care  for  them  when  grown,  to  counsel  them,  to  con- 
sole them,  and  to  make  life  agreeable  and  sweet  to  them — 
these  are  the  duties  of  women  at  all  times,  and  what 
should  be  taught  them  from  their  infancy.  So  long  as 
we  do  not  ascend  to  this  principle  we  shall  miss  the  goal, 
and  all  the  precepts  which  we  give  them  will  accomplish 
nothing  either  for  their  happiness  or  for  our  own. 

Little  girls,  almost  from  birth,  have  a  love  for  dress. 
Not  content  with  being  pretty,  they  wish  to  be  thought 
so.  We  see  in  their  little  airs  that  this  care  already  occu- 
pies their  minds  ;  and  they  no  sooner  understand  what  is 
said  to  them  than  we  control  them  by  telling  them  what 
people  will  think  of  them.  The  same  motive,  very  indis- 
creetly presented  to  little  boys,  is  very  far  from  having 


264  EMILE. 

the  same  power  over  them.  Provided  they  are  independ- 
ent and  happy,  they  care  very  little  of  what  will  be 
thought  of  them.  It  is  only  at  the  expense  of  time  and 
labor  that  we  subject  them  to  the  same  law. 

From  whatever  source  this  first  lesson  comes  to  girls, 
it  is  a  very  good  one.  Since  the  body  is  born,  so  to 
speak,  before  the  soul,  the  first  culture  ought  to  be  that 
of  the  body ;  and  this  order  is  common  to  both  sexes. 
But  the  object  of  this  culture  is  different;  in  one  this 
object  is  the  development  of  strength,  while  in  the  other 
it  is  the  development  of  personal  charms.  Not  that  these 
qualities  ought  to  be  exclusive  in  each  sex,  but  the  order 
is  simply  reversed  :  women  need  sufficient  strength  to  do 
with  grace  whatever  they  have  to  do ;  and  men  need 
sufficient  cleverness  to  do  with  facility  whatever  they 
have  to  do. 

The  extreme  lack  of  vigor  in  women  gives  rise  to 
the  same  quality  in  men.  Women  ought  not  to  be  robust 
like  them,  but  for  them,  in  order  that  the  men  who  shall 
be  born  of  them  may  be  robust  also.  In  this  respect  the 
convents,  where  the  boarders  have  coarse  fare,  but  many 
frolics,  races,  and  sports  in  the  open  air  and  in  gardens, 
are  to  be  preferred  to  the  home  where  a  girl,  delicately 
reared,  always  flattered  or  scolded,  always  seated  under 
the  eyes  of  her  mother  in  a  very  close  room,  dares  neither 
to  rise,  to  walk,  to  speak,  nor  to  breathe,  and  has  not  a 
moment's  liberty  for  playing,  jumping,  running,  shout- 
ing, and  indulging  in  the  petulance  natural  to  her  age ; 
always  dangerous  relaxation  or  badly  conceived  severity, 
but  never  anything  according  to  reason.  This  is  the 
way  in  which  the  young  are  ruined  both  in  body  and  in 
heart. 

Whatever  obstructs  or  constrains  nature  is  in  bad  taste, 
and  this  is  as  true  of  the  ornaments  of  the  body  as  of  the 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  265 

ornaments  of  the  mind.  Life,  health,  reason,  and  com- 
fort ought  to  take  precedence  of  everything  else.  There 
is  no  grace  without  freedom.  Delicacy  is  not  languor,  and 
one  need  not  be  sickly  in  order  to  please.  We  excite  pity 
when  we  suffer ;  but  pleasure  and  desire  seek  the  fresh- 
ness of  health. 

Children  of  the  two  sexes  have  many  amusements  in 
common,  and  this  ought  to  be  so.  Is  not  the  same  thing 
true  of  them  when  grown?  They  have  also  individual 
tastes  which  distinguish  them.  Boys  seek  movement  and 
noise — drums,  tops,  carts;  but  girls  prefer  what  appeals 
to  the  sight  and  serves  for  ornament — mirrors,  trinkets, 
rags,  and  especially  dolls.  The  doll  is  the  especial  amuse- 
ment of  this  sex ;  and  in  this  case  the  girl's  taste  is  very 
evidently  determined  by  her  destination.  The  mechanics 
of  the  art  of  pleasing  consists  in  dress,  and  this  is  all  of 
this  art  that  children  can  cultivate. 

Observe  a  little  girl  spending  her  time  with  her  doll, 
constantly  changing  its  attire,  dressing  and  undressing  it 
hundreds  of  times,  continually  seeking  for  new  combi- 
nations of  ornaments,  well  or  badly  selected,  no  matter 
which ;  the  fingers  lack  deftness,  the  taste  has  not  been 
formed,  but  the  disposition  is  already  seen.  In  this  end- 
less occupation  the  time  goes  on  without  notice;  the 
hours  pass  but  she  takes  no  note  of  them ;  she  even  for- 
gets to  eat,  and  has  a  greater  hunger  for  dress  than  for 
food.  But,  you  will  say,  she  dresses  her  doll,  but  not  her- 
self. Doubtless.  She  sees  her  doll,  but  does  not  see  her- 
self ;  she  can  do  nothing  for  herself ;  she  has  not  been 
developed  ;  she  has  neither  talent  nor  strength ;  she  is  all 
absorbed  in  her  doll,  and  on  it  she  expends  all  her  coquetry. 
She  will  not  always  devote  herself  to  it,  but  waits  the  mo- 
ment when  she  shall  be  her  own  doll. 

Here,  then,  is  a  very  decided  primitive  taste,  and  you 


266  EMILE. 

have  only  to  follow  it  and  regulate  it.  It  is  certain 
that  the  little  one  wishes  with  all  her  heart  that  she 
might  adorn  her  doll  and  adjust  its  sleeve,  its  neck- 
erchief, its  furbelows,  its  lace ;  but  in  all  this  she  is 
made  to  depend  so  rigorously  on  the  pleasure  of  others 
that  it  would  be  very  much  easier  for  her  to  owe  every- 
thing to  her  own  industry.  Thus  appears  the  reason  for 
the  first  lessons  which  are  given  her ;  they  are  not  tasks 
which  are  prescribed  for  her,  but  kindnesses  which  we 
feel  for  her.  And,  in  fact,  almost  all  little  girls  learn 
to  read  and  write  with  repugnance  ;  but  as  to  holding  the 
needle,  they  always  learn  this  willingly.  They  imagine 
themselves  already  grown,  and  take  pleasure  in  thinking 
that  these  talents  will  one  day  be  of  service  in  adorning 
them. 

Once  opened,  this  first  route  is  easy  to  follow ;  sew- 
ing, embroidery,  and  lace-work  will  come  of  themselves. 
Tapestry  is  not  so  much  to  their  liking ;  and  as  furniture 
is  not  connected  with  the  person,  but  with  mere  opinion, 
it  is  too  far  out  of  their  reach.  Tapestry  is  the  amuse- 
ment of  women ;  young  girls  will  never  take  very  great 
pleasure  in  it. 

This  voluntary  progress  will  easily  extend  itself  to 
designing,  for  this  art  is  not  immaterial  to  that  of  dressing 
with  taste  ;  but  I  would  not  have  it  applied  to  landscape, 
and  still  less  to  portrait  painting.  Foliage,  fruits,  flowers, 
draperies,  and  whatever  may  serve  to  give  an  elegant 
outline  to  attire,  and  to  make  for  one's  self  a  pattern  for 
embroidery  when  one  can  not  be  found  to  the  taste — this 
is  sufficient  for  them.  In  general,  if  it  is  important  for 
men  to  restrict  their  studies  to  knowledge  of  practical 
use,  this  is  still  more  important  for  women ;  for  as  the 
life  of  the  latter,  though  less  laborious,  is,  or  ought  to  be, 
more  devote^  to  their  duties,  and  is  more  interrupted  by 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  267 

different  cares,  it  does  not  allow  them  to  devote  them- 
selves by  choice  to  any  talent  to  the  prejudice  of  their 
duties. 

Whatever  may  be  said  on  the  subject  jokingly,  the 
two  sexes  are  equally  endowed  in  respect  of  good  sense. 
In  general,  girls  are  more  docile  than  boys,  and  we  ought 
to  use  even  more  authority  over  them,  as  I  shall  presently 
explain ;  but  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are  to  require  of 
them  anything  whose  utility  they  can  not  see.  The  art 
of  mothers  is  to  show  them  the  utility  of  everything 
which  they  prescribe  for  them ;  and  this  is  so  much 
easier  as  the  intelligence  of  girls  is  more  precocious  than 
that  of  boys.  This  rule  banishes  from  their  sex,  as  it 
does  from  ours,  not  only  all  trifling  studies  which  end  in 
nothing  good,  and  even  fail  to  make  those  who  have 
pursued  them  more  agreeable  to  others;  but  even  all 
those  which  have  no  utility  for  children  of  that  age,  and 
whose  utility  at  a  later  period  of  life  the  child  can  not 
foresee.  If  I  would  not  urge  a  boy  to  learn  to  read,  for  a 
stronger  reason  I  would  not  force  young  girls  to  do  this 
before  I  had  made  them  understand  the  purpose  of  read- 
ing ;  and  according  to  the  usual  manner  of  showing  them 
this  utility  we  follow  our  own  idea  much  more  than 
theirs.  After  all,  why  is  it  necessary  that  a  girl  should 
learn  to  read  and  write  at  an  early  age  ?  Will  she  have  a 
household  to  govern  so  soon  ?  There  are  very  few  who 
will  not  abuse  rather  than  use  this  fatal  science ;  and  all 
are  a  little  too  curious  not  to  learn  it  without  compulsion 
when  they  have  the  leisure  and  the  occasion  for  it.  Per- 
haps they  ought  to  learn  to  cipher  before  everything  else, 
for  nothing  offers  a  more  obvious  utility  at  all  times, 
requires  longer  practice,  or  gives  a  stronger  defense  against 
error  than  the  art  of  computation.  If  the  little  one  could 
have  cherries  to  her  taste  only  through  an  arithmetical 


268 

process,  I  warrant  you  she  would  soon  know  how  to  cal- 
culate. 

Always  justify  the  duties  which  you  impose  on  young 
girls,  but  never  fail  to  impose  them.  Idleness  and  indo- 
cility  are  their  two  most  dangerous  faults,  and  when  once 
contracted  they  are  cured  with  the  greatest  difficulty. 
Girls  ought  to  be  heedful  and  industrious,  and  this  is  not 
all :  they  ought  early  to  be  brought  under  restraint.  This 
misfortune,  if  it  is  one  for  them,  is  inseparable  from  their 
sex;  and  they  never  rid  themselves  of  it  save  to  suffer 
others  which  are  much  more  cruel.  As  long  as  they  live 
they  will  be  subject  to  the  most  continual  and  the  most 
severe  restraint — that  which  is  imposed  by  the  laws  of 
decorum.  They  must  early  be  trained  to  restraint,  to  the 
end  that  it  may  cost  them  nothing ;  and  to  conquer  all 
their  whims,  in  order  to  subject  them  to  the  wills  of 
others.  If  they  wish  always  to  be  at  work,  they  must 
sometimes  be  compelled  to  do  nothing.  Dissipation,  fri- 
volity, and  inconstancy  are  faults  which  easily  spring 
from  their  first  tastes  which  have  been  corrupted,  and 
then  always  followed.  In  order  to  prevent  this  abuse, 
teach  them  above  all  else  to  conquer  themselves.  By 
reason  of  our  senseless  customs,  the  life  of  a  good  woman 
is  a  perpetual  combat  with  herself;  and  it  is  just  that 
this  sex  share  the  discomfort  of  the  evils  which  it  has 
caused  us. 

Prevent  young  girls  from  becoming  tired  of  their  oc- 
cupations, and  from  becoming  enamored  of  their  amuse- 
ments, as  it  always  happens  in  the  common  style  of  edu- 
cation, where,  as  Fenelon  says,  all  the  tedium  is  put  on 
one  side  and  all  the  pleasure  on  the  other.  The  first  of 
these  two  inconveniences  will  not  occur  if  we  follow  the 
preceding  rules,  save  when  the  persons  who  are  with  them 
are  displeasing  to  them.  A  little  girl  who  loves  her 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  269 

mother  or  her  aunt  will  work  all  day  at  her  side  without 
weariness ;  her  prattle  alone  will  reward  her  for  all  her 
constraint.  But  if  she  who  governs  her  is  insupportable 
to  her,  she  will  include  in  the  same  disgust  whatever  she 
does  in  her  presence.  It  is  very  difficult  for  those  who 
are  not  happier  with  their  mothers  than  with  any  one  else 
in  the  world,  ever  to  turn  out  well ;  but  in  order  to  judge 
of  their  real  feelings  we  must  study  them  and  distrust 
what  they  say ;  for  they  are  fawning,  dissimulating,  and 
soon  know  how  to  disguise  themselves.  Nor  ought  they 
to  be  ordered  to  love  their  mothers ;  affection  does  not 
come  through  duty,  and  constraint  serves  no  purpose  in 
this  place.  Attachment,  kind  offices,  and  simple  habit 
will  make  the  mother  loved  by  her  daughter  if  she  does 
nothing  to  incur  her  hatred.  Even  the  constraint  in 
which  she  holds  her,  when  well  directed,  far  from  weaken- 
ing this  attachment,  will  serve  only  to  increase  it,  because, 
dependence  being  a  state  natural  to  women,  girls  feel 
that  they  are  made  to  obey. 

For  the  very  reason  that  they  have  or  ought  to  have 
little  liberty,  they  carry  to  excess  the  liberty  which  is 
granted  them ;  extreme  in  everything,  they  abandon 
themselves  to  their  sports  with  even  greater  transport 
than  boys  do.  This  is  the  second  of  the  inconveniences 
which  I  just  mentioned.  This  transport  ought  to  be 
toned  down,  for  it  is  the  cause  of  several  vices  peculiar  to 
women — as,  among  others,  caprice  and  infatuation,  by 
which  a  woman  is  to-day  carried  away  with  an  object 
which  she  will  not  regard  to-morrow.  The  inconstancy 
of  their  tastes  is  as  hurtful  as  their  excess,  and  both  come 
to  them  from  the  same  source.  Do  not  deny  them 
gayety,  laughter,  noise,  and  sportive  diversions ;  but  pre- 
vent them  from  being  satiated  with  one  and  running 
tu  the  other ;  never  suffer  them  for  a  single  moment  of 


270  EMILE. 

their  lives  to  know  themselves  free  from  restraint.  Ac- 
custom them  to  see  themselves  interrupted  in  the  midst 
of  their  sports,  and  to  be  recalled  to  other  things  without 
a  murmur.  Mere  habit  is  still  sufficient  for  this  purpose, 
because  it  merely  supplements  nature. 

There  results  from  this  habitual  restraint  a  docility 
which  women  need  during  their  whole  life,  since  they 
never  cease  to  be  subject  either  to  a  man  or  to  the  judg- 
ments of  men,  and  they  are  never  allowed  to  place  them- 
selves above  these  judgments.  The  first  and  most  im- 
portant quality  of  a  woman  is  gentleness.  Made  to  obey  a 
being  as  imperfect  as  man,  often  so  full  of  vices,  and 
always  so  full  of  faults,  she  ought  early  to  learn  to  suffer 
even  injustice,  and  to  endure  the  wrongs  of  a  husband 
without  complaint ;  and  it  is  not  for  him,  but  for  herself 
that  she  ought  to  be  gentle.  The  harshness  and  obsti- 
nacy of  women  serve  only  to  increase  the  wrongs  and 
the  bad  conduct  of  husbands ;  they  feel  that  it  is  not 
with  these  arms  that  their  wives  should  conquer  them. 
Heaven  has  not  made  them  insinuating  and  persuasive  in 
order  to  become  waspish ;  has  not  made  them  weak  in 
order  to  be  imperious ;  has  not  given  them  so  gentle  a 
voice  in  order  to  use  harsh  language ;  and  has  not  made 
their  features  so  delicate  in  order  to  disfigure  them  by 
anger.  When  they  become  angry  they  forget  themselves ; 
they  often  have  reason  to  complain,  but  they  are  always 
wrong  in  scolding.  ,  Each  one  ought  to  preserve  the  tone 
of  his  sex.  The  husband  who  is  too  mild  may  make  a 
woman  impertinent;  but,  unless  a  man  is  a  brute,  the 
gentleness  of  a  wife  reforms  him,  and  triumphs  over  him 
sooner  or  later. 

Let  daughters  always  be  submissive,  but  let  not  moth- 
ers always  be  inexorable.  In  order  to  render  a  young 
woman  docile,  it  is  not  necessary  to  make  her  unhappy; 


T1IE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  271 

to  render  her  modest,  it  is  not  necessary  to  brutalize  her. 
On  the  contrary,  I  should  not  be  sorry  if  she  were  some- 
times indulged  in  a  little  adroitness,  not  to  escape  punish- 
ment for  her  disobedience,  but  to  make  her  exempt  from 
obeying.  It  is  not  proposed  to  make  her  dependence 
painful,  but  it  suffices  to  make  her  feel  it.  Artifice  is  a 
talent  natural  to  the  sex,  and,  persuaded  that  all  natural 
inclinations  are  good  and  upright  in  themselves,  I  advise 
the  cultivation  of  this  one,  as  well  as  of  the  others ;  all 
that  is  necessary  is  to  prevent  its  abuse. 

As  to  the  truth  of  this  remark,  I  appeal  to  every  honest 
observer.  I  do  not  wish  women  themselves  to  be  ex- 
amined on  this  point ;  our  annoying  customs  may  force 
them  to  sharpen  their  temper.  I  would  have  the  girls 
examined,  the  little  girls  who  have  only  just  come  into 
the  world,  so  to  speak ;  compare  them  with  little  boys  of 
the  same  age,  and  if  the  latter  do  not  seem  dull,  thought- 
less, and  stupid  in  their  presence,  I  shall  be  unquestion- 
ably wrong. 

I  know  that  austere  teachers  would  have  young  girls 
taught  neither  singing,  dancing,  nor  any  other  accom- 
plishment. This  seems  to  me  ludicrous.  To  whom,  then, 
would  they  have  these  things  taught  ?  To  boys  ?  To  whom 
does  it  pertain,  by  preference,  to  have  these  talents:  to 
men,  or  to  women  ?  To  no  one,  they  will  reply ;  profane 
songs  are  so  many  crimes ;  the  dance  is  an  invention  of 
the  devil ;  a  young  girl  ought  to  have  no  amusement  save 
her  work  and  her  prayers.  Strange  amusements  these  for 
a  child  of  ten !  For  myself,  I  greatly  fear  that  all  those 
little  saints  who  are  forced  to  spend  their  childhood  in 
praying  may  spend  their  youth  in  something  very  differ- 
ent, and,  when  married,  may  do  their  best  to  redeem  the 
time  which  they  lost  while  girls.  I  think  that  we  must 
have  regard  to  what  befits  age  as  well  as  sex;  that  a 


272 

young  girl  ought  not  to  live  like  her  grandmother,  tut 
ought  to  be  lively,  playful,  frolicsome  ;  to  sing  and  dance 
as  much  as  she  pleases,  and  to  taste  all  the  innocent  pleas- 
ures of  her  age.  The  time  will  come  only  too  soon  for 
being  sedate  and  for  assuming  a  more  serious  deport- 
ment. 

We  have  gone  too  far  in  reducing  the  pleasure-giving 
talents  to  arts ;  they  have  been  systematized  too  much ; 
everything  has  been  reduced  to  maxim  and  precept,  and 
we  have  made  very  tedious  to  young  persons  what  ought 
to  be  for  them  only  amusements  and  pleasant  diversions. 
I  can  imagine  nothing  more  ridiculous  than  to  see  an  old 
dancing-master  approach  with  a  grim  air  young  persons 
who  want  merely  to  laugh,  and,  while  teaching  them  his 
frivolous  science,  assume  a  tone  more  pedantic  and  magis- 
terial than  if  it  were  their  catechism  he  was  teaching.  For 
example,  is  the  art  of  singing  limited  to  written  music  ? 
May  not  one  render  his  voice  flexible  and  accurate  ;  learn 
to  sing  with  taste,  and  even  to  accompany  an  instrument, 
without  knowing  a  single  note?  Is  the  same  kind  of 
singing  adapted  to  all  voices  ?  Is  the  same  method  adapted 
to  all  minds  ?  I  shall  never  be  made  to  believe  that  the 
same  attitudes,  the  same  steps,  the  same  movements,  the 
same  gestures,  and  the  same  dances  are  equally  becoming 
to  a  little  brunette,  lively  and  keen,  and  to  a  tall,  beauti- 
ful blonde  with  languishing  eyes.  When,  therefore,  I  see 
a  master  giving  exactly  the  same  lessons  to  both,  I  say 
that  the  man  follows  his  routine  but  understands  nothing 
of  his  art. 

It  is  asked  whether  the  teachers  for  young  girls  should 
be  men,  or  women.  I  do  not  know.  I  wish  that  neither 
might  be  necessary,  but  that  they  might  be  free  to  learn 
what  they  are  so  much  inclined  to  learn,  and  that  we 
might  not  see  constantly  going  about  in  our  cities  so 


THE  EDCCATIOX   OF   WOMAN.  273 

many  laced  buffoons.  I  have  some  difficulty  in  believing 
that  the  deportment  of  these  fellows  does  not  do  more 
harm  than  good  to  young  girls,  and  that  their  jargon, 
their  tone,  and  their  airs  do  not  give  to  their  pupils  the 
first  taste  for  those  frivolities,  so  important  for  their 
masters,  which  they  will  hardly  be  slow,  following  theii 
example,  to  make  their  sole  occupation. 

In  the  arts  which  are  merely  pleasure-giving  in  their 
purpose  everything  may  serve  to  teach  young  persons — 
their  father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  their  friends,  their 
governesses,  their  mirror,  and  especially  their  own  taste. 
We  ought  not  to  offer  to  give  them  lessons,  but  they 
should  find  it  necessary  to  demand  them.  We  should 
not  turn  a  reward  into  a  task;  and  it  is  especially  in 
studies  of  this  sort  that  the  very  condition  of  success  is  a 
desire  to  succeed.  However,  if  formal  lessons  are  abso- 
lutely necessary,  I  shall  not  decide  the  sex  of  those  who 
are  to  give  them. 

Through  industry  and  talent  the  taste  is  formed ;  and 
through  the  taste  the  mind  is  insensibly  opened  to  ideas 
of  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms,  and  finally  to  the  moral 
notions  which  are  connected  with  it.  This  is  perhaps 
one  of  the  reasons  why  the  feeling  of  propriety  and  vir- 
tue is  developed  sooner  in  girls  than  in  boys;  for,  in 
order  to  believe  that  this  precocious  feeling  is  the  work 
of  governesses,  we  must  be  very  badly  instructed  in  their 
style  of  lessons  and  in  the  progress  of  the  human  mind. 
Talent  in  speaking  holds  the  first  place  in  the  art  of 
pleasing,  and  it  is  through  it  alone  that  we  can  add  new 
charms  to  those  to  which  habit  accustoms  all  the  senses. 
It  is  the  mind  which  not  only  vivifies  the  body,  but  which 
in  some  sort  renews  it;  it  is  through  the  succession  of 
feelings  and  ideas  that  it  gives  animation  and  variety  to 
the  features ;  and  it  is  through  the  discourse  which  it  in- 


274  EMILE. 

spires  that  the  attention  is  kept  alive  and  for  a  long  time 
sustains  the  same  interest  on  the  same  object.  It  is  for 
all  these  reasons,  I  presume,  that  young  girls  so  soon  ac- 
quire an  agreeable  prattle,  that  they  throw  an  accent  into 
their  speech  even  before  they  are  conscious  of  its  mean- 
ing, and  that  men  so  soon  find  amusement  in  listening  to 
them  even  before  they  can  be  understood  by  their  fair 
listeners.  Men  watch  the  first  movement  of  this  intelli- 
gence in  order  thus  to  penetrate  the  dawn  of  emotion. 

Women  have  a  flexible  tongue ;  they  speak  sooner, 
more  easily,  and  more  agreeably  than  men.  They  are 
accused  also  of  speaking  more.  This  is  proper,  and  I 
would  willingly  change  this  reproach  into  a  commenda- 
tion. With  them  the  mouth  and  the  eyes  have  the  same 
activity,  and  for  the  same  reason.  A  man  says  what  he 
knows,  and  a  woman  what  is  pleasing.  In  order  to  speak, 
one  needs  knowledge  and  the  other  taste ;  one  ought  to 
have  for  a  principal  object  things  which  are  useful ;  the 
other,  things  which  are  agreeable.  In  their  forms  of 
conversation  the  only  thing  in  common  should  be  the 
truth. 

If  boys  should  not  be  allowed  to  ask  indiscreet  ques- 
tions, for  a  still  stronger  reason  they  should  be  forbidden 
young  girls,  whose  curiosity,  when  satisfied,  or  when 
wrongly  evaded,  has  very  different  consequences,  due  to 
their  penetration  in  anticipating  the  mysteries  which  are 
concealed  from  them,  and  to  their  cleverness  in  dis- 
covering them.  But,  without  awaiting  their  questions,  I 
would  have  them  thoroughly  interrogated  themselves, 
would  take  care  to  make  them  talk,  and  would  tease 
them  in  order  to  make  them  speak  easily  and  to  loosen 
the  mind  and  the  tongue,  when  it  could  be  done  without 
danger.  These  conversations,  always  turned  into  pleas- 
ing channels,  but  managed  with  art  and  well  directed, 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  275 

would  make  a  charming  amusement  for  that  age,  and 
might  carry  into  the  innocent  hearts  of  these  young  per- 
sons the  first  and  perhaps  the  most  useful  lessons  in 
morals  which  they  will  ever  learn,  by  teaching  them, 
through  the  bait  of  pleasure  and  vanity,  to  what  qualities 
men  really  accord  their  esteem,  and  in  what  the  glory  and 
happiness  of  a  noble  woman  consist. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  if  boys  are  not  in  a  condition  to 
form  any  true  idea  of  religion,  for  a  still  stronger  reason 
the  same  idea  is  above  the  conception  of  girls.  It  is  on 
this  very  account  that  I  would  speak  to  them  the  earlier 
on  this  subject ;  for  if  we  must  wait  till  they  are  in  a 
condition  to  discuss  these  profound  questions  methodi- 
cally, we  run  the  risk  of  never  speaking  to  them  on  this 
subject.  The  reason  of  women  is  a  practical  reason,  which 
gives  them  great  skill  in  finding  the  means  for  reaching 
a  known  end,  but  it  does  not  cause  them  to  find  the  end 
itself.  The  social  relation  of  the  sexes  is  admirable. 
From  this  association  there  results  a  moral  personality  of 
which  woman  is  the  eye  and  man  the  arm,  but  with  such 
a  dependence  of  one  on  the  other  that  it  is  from  the  man 
that  the  woman  learns  what  must  be  seen,  and  from  the 
woman  that  the  man  learns  what  must  be  done.  If  the 
woman  could  ascend  to  principles  as  well  as  the  man,  and 
if  the  man  had  the  same  talents  for  details  that  she  has, 
always  independent  of  each  other,  they  would  live  in 
perpetual  discord,  and  their  union  could  not  subsist. 
But  in  the  harmony  which  reigns  between  them  every- 
thing tends  to  the  common  end,  and  we  do  not  know 
which  contributes  the  most  to  it,  each  follows  the  impul- 
sion of  the  other ;  each  obeys,  and  both  are  masters. 

For  the  reason  that  the  conduct  of  woman  is  subject 
to  public  opinion,  her  belief  is  subject  to  authority. 
Every  daughter  should  have  the  religion  of  her  mother, 
21 


276 

and  every  wife  that  of  her  husband.  Even  were  this  re- 
ligion false,  the  docility  which  makes  the  mother  and  the 
daughter  submit  to  the  order  of  nature  expunges  in  the 
sight  of  God  the  sin  of  error.  As  they  are  not  in  a  con- 
dition to  judge  for  themselves,  women  should  receive 
the  decision  of  fathers  and  husbands  as  they  would  the 
decision  of  the  Church. 

Not  being  able  to  draw  from  themselves  alone  the  rule 
of  their  faith,  women  can  not  confine  it  within  the  bound- 
aries of  evidence  and  reason,  but,  allowing  themselves  to 
be  carried  away  by  a  thousand  extraneous  impulses,  they 
are  always  on  this  side  or  that  of  the  truth.  Always  ex- 
tremists, they  are  all  free-thinkers  or  devotees ;  none  of 
them  are  able  to  combine  discretion  with  piety.  The 
source  of  the  evil  is  not  only  in  the  tendency  to  ex- 
tremes which  characterizes  their  sex,  but  also  in  the  badly 
regulated  authority  of  our  own.  The  looseness  in  morals 
makes  this  authority  despised,  and  the  fear  of  repentance 
makes  it  tyrannical ;  and  this  is  how  we  are  always  doing 
too  little  or  too  much. 

Since  authority  ought  to  regulate  the  religion  of 
women,  it  is  not  so  important  to  explain  to  them  the  rea- 
sons which  we  have  for  believing  as  to  expound  to  them 
with  clearness  what  we  believe ;  for  the  faith  which  we 
have  in  obscure  ideas  is  the  primitive  source  of  fanati- 
cism, and  that  which  we  require  for  absurd  things  leads  to 
madness  or  to  incredulity. 

In  the  first  place,  in  order  to  teach  religion  to  young 
girls,  never  make  it  a  thing  of  sadness  and  constraint  for 
them,  and  never  a  task  or  a  duty ;  consequently,  never 
make  them  learn  by  heart  anything  connected  with  it, 
not  even  their  prayers.  Be  content  with  saying  your  own 
prayers  regularly  before  them,  but  without  forcing  them 
to  take  part  in  them.  Make  them  short,  according  to 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  WOMAN.  277 

the  precepts  of  Jesus  Christ.  Always  make  them  with 
suitable  solemnity  and  respect ;  recollect  that  as  we  re- 
quire of  the  Supreme  Being  attention  in  order  to  listen 
to  us,  we  are  in  duty  bound  to  reflect  on  what  we  are 
going  to  say  to  him. 

It  is  less  important  that  young  girls  know  their  re- 
iigion  so  soon  than  that  they  know  it  well,  and  especially 
that  they  love  it.  When  you  make  it  burdensome  to 
them,  when  you  always  represent  God  as  angry  with 
them,  when  you  impose  on  them  in  his  name  a  thousand 
painful  duties  which  they  never  see  you  fulfill,  what  can 
they  think,  save  that  to  know  one's  catechism  and  to  pray 
to  God  are  the  duties  of  little  girls,  and  desire  except 
to  be  grown  up  in  order  to  be  exempt,  just  as  you  are, 
from  all  this  constraint  ?  Example !  Example  !  With- 
out this  we  shall  never  succeed  in  anything  with  chil- 
dren. 

When  you  explain  to  them  the  articles  of  faith,  let  it 
be  in  the  form  of  direct  instruction,  and  not  by  question 
and  answer ;  they  ought  never  to  answer  save  what  they 
think,  and  not  what  is  dictated  to  them.  All  the  replies 
of  the  catechism  are  on  the  wrong  side — it  is  the  pupil 
who  instructs  the  teacher ;  they  are  even  falsehoods  in 
the  mouths  of  children,  since  they  explain  what  they  do 
not  understand,  and  affirm  what  they  are  not  able  to  be- 
lieve. 

I  wish  some  man  who  thoroughly  knows  the  steps  of 
progress  in  the  child's  mind  would  write  a  catechism  for 
him.  This  would  perhaps  be  the  most  useful  book  that 
was  ever  written,  and  would  not  be,  to  my  mind,  the  one 
which  would  do  the  least  honor  to  its  author.  One  thing  is 
very  certain :  if  this  book  were  good,  it  would  bear  but 
little  resemblance  to  those  in  use. 

Such  a  catechism  will  be  good  only  when,  from  the 


278  fiMILE. 

questions  alone,  the  child  will  make  for  himself  the  re- 
plies without,  having  to  learn  them,  it  being  understood 
that  he  will  sometimes  take  his  turn  in  asking  questions. 
To  make  what  I  wish  to  say  understood,  a  sort  of  model 
would  be  necessary,  and  I  well  know  what  I  lack  in  order 
to  trace  it  out. 

It  is  well  to  recollect  that  until  the  age  when  the  rea- 
son is  illumined,  and  when  dawning  emotion  causes  the 
conscience  to  speak,  that  which  is  right  or  wrong  for 
young  persons  is  what  the  people  who  surround  them 
have  decided  to  be  such.  What  they  are  commanded  to 
do  is  right,  what  they  are  forbidden  to  do  is  wrong,  and 
here  their  knowledge  ought  to  end.*  From  this  we  see 
how  important  it  is,  and  still  more  so  for  girls  than  for 
boys,  to  make  a  choice  of  the  persons  who  are  to  approach 
them  and  have  some  authority  over  them.  Finally,  the 
moment  comes  when  they  begin  to  judge  of  things  for 
themselves,  and  then  it  is  time  to  change  the  plan  of  their 
education. 

To  what  condition  should  we  reduce  women  if  we  make 
public  prejudice  the  law  of  their  conduct  ?  Let  us  not 
abase  to  this  point  the  sex  which  governs  us,  and  which 
honors  us  when  we  have  not  degraded  it.  There  exists 
for  the  whole  human  -  species  a  rule  anterior  to  opinion. 
It  is  to  the  inflexible  direction  of  this  rule  that  all  the 
others  are  to  be  referred.  It  judges  prejudice  even ;  and 
it  is  only  so  far  as  the  esteem  of  men  accords  with  it  that 
this  esteem  ought  to  constitute  authority  for  us. 

This  rule  is  the  inner  moral  sense.  I  shall  not  repeat 
what  I  have  previously  said  on  this  point.  It  is  sufficient 

*  This  reflection  should  have  occurred  to  Rousseau  when  he  com- 
posed the  dialogue  intended  to  prove  that  children  are  incapable  of 
reason.— (P.) 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  279 

for  me  to  remark,  that  if  these  two  rules  do  not  co-oper- 
ate in  the  education  of  women,  it  will  always  be  defective. 
The  moral  sense,  without  opinion,  will  not  give  them 
that  delicacy  of  soul  which  adorns  good  manners  with 
universal  honor;  and  opinion,  without  the  moral  sense, 
will  never  produce  anything  but  artificial  and  immodest 
women,  who  substitute  appearance  in  the  place  of  virtue. 

It  is  important,  then,  to  cultivate  a  faculty  which 
serves  as  an  arbitrator  between  the  two  guides,  which  does 
not  allow  the  conscience  to  go  astray,  and  which  corrects 
the  errors  of  prejudice.  This  faculty  is  the  reason.  But 
at  this  word  how  many  questions  arise !  Are  women  capa- 
ble of  solid  reasoning  ?  Is  it  important  for  them  to  cul- 
tivate it?  Will  they  cultivate  it  with  success?  Is  this 
culture  useful  to  the  functions  imposed  on  them?  Is  it 
compatible  with  the  simplicity  which  is  becoming  to 
them? 

It  results  from  the  different  ways  of  approaching  and 
resolving  these  questions  that,  going  to  opposite  extremes, 
some  restrict  woman  to  sewing  and  spinning  in  her  house- 
hold with  her  servants,  and  thus  make  of  her  but  the  head 
servant  of  the  master ;  while  others,  not  content  with  se- 
curing her  rights,  go  farther,  and  make  her  usurp  our 
own.  For,  to  place  her  above  us  in  the  qualities  peculiar 
to  her  sex,  and  to  render  her  our  equal  in  everything  else, 
what  is  this  but  to  transfer  to  the  wife  the  primacy  which 
nature  gives  to  the  husband  ? 

The  reason  which  leads  man  to  the  knowledge  of  his 
duties  is  not  very  complex ;  and  the  reason  which  leads 
woman  to  the  knowledge  of  hers  is  still  simpler.  The 
obedience  and  fidelity  which  she  owes  to  her  husband,  the 
tenderness  and  care  which  she  owes  to  her  children,  are 
such  natural  and  obvious  consequences  of  her  condition, 
that  she  can  not,  without  bad  faith,  refuse  her  consent  to 


280  EMILE. 

the  inner  sense  which  guides  her,  nor  fail  to  recognize 
her  duty  in  the  inclination  which  has  not  yet  been  per- 
verted. 

If  a  woman  were  wholly  restricted  to  the  tasks  of  her 
sex,  and  were  left  in  profound  ignorance  of  everything 
else,  I  would  not  indulge  in  indiscriminate  censure ;  but 
this  would  require  a  very  simple  and  wholesome  state  of 
public  morals,  or  a  very  retired  manner  of  living.  In 
large  cities  and  among  corrupt  men  such  a  woman  would 
be  too  easily  led  astray,  and  in  this  philosophical  age  she 
must  be  above  temptation ;  she  must  know  in  advance  what 
may  be  said  to  her,  and  what  she  ought  to  think  of  it. 

Moreover,  subject  to  the  judgment  of  men,  she  ought 
to  merit  their  esteem  ;  she  ought,  above  all,  to  secure  the 
esteem  of  her  husband ;  she  ought  not  only  to  make  him 
love  her  person,  but  make  him  approve  her  conduct ;  she 
ought  to  justify  before  the  public  the  choice  which  he  has 
made,  and  make  her  husband  honored  with  the  honor 
which  is  paid  his  wife.  Now,  how  shall  she  go  about  all 
this  if  she  is  ignorant  of  our  institutions,  if  she  knows 
nothing  of  our  usages  and  our  social  customs,  if  she  knows 
neither  the  source  of  human  judgments  nor  the  passions 
which  determine  them  ?  When  she  depends  at  once  on 
her  own  conscience  and  the  opinions  of  others,  she  must 
learn  to  compare  these  two  rules,  to  reconcile  them,  and 
to  prefer  the  first  only  when  they  are  in  opposition.  She 
becomes  the  judge  of  her  judges ;  she  decides  when  she 
ought  to  submit  to  them  and  when  she  ought  to  challenge 
them.  Before  rejecting  or  admitting  their  prejudices  she 
weighs  them ;  she  learns  to  ascend  to  their  source,  to  an- 
ticipate them,  and  to  render  them  favorable  to  her ;  she 
is  careful  never  to  draw  censure  upop  herself  when  her 
duty  permits  her  to  avoid  it.  Nothing  of  all  this  can  be 
well  done  without  cultivating  her  mind  and  her  reason. 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  WOMAN.  281 

The  search  for  abstract  and  speculative  truths,  princi- 
ples, and  scientific  axioms,  whatever  tends  to  generalize 
ideas,  does  not  fall  within  the  compass  of  women ;  all 
their  studies  ought  to  have  reference  to  the  practical ;  it 
is  for  them  to  make  the  application  of  the  principles  which 
man  has  discovered,  and  to  make  the  observations  which 
lead  man  to  the  establishment  of  principles.  All  the  re- 
flections of  women  which  are  not  immediately  connected 
with  their  duties  ought  to  be  directed  to  the  study  of  men 
and  to  that  pleasure-giving  knowledge  which  has  only 
taste  for  its  object ;  for  as  to  works  of  genius,  they  are 
out  of  their  reach,  nor  have  they  sufficient  accuracy  and 
attention  to  succeed  in  the  exact  sciences ;  and  as  to  the 
physical  sciences,  they  fall  to  that  one  of  the  two  which  is 
the  most  active,  the  most  stirring,  which  sees  the  most 
objects,  which  has  the  most  strength,  and  which  exercises 
it  most  in  judging  of  the  relations  of  sensible  beings  and 
of  the  laws  of  nature.  Woman,  who  is  weak,  and  who  sees 
nothing  external,  appreciates  and  judges  the  motive  pow- 
ers which  she  can  set  to  work  to  offset  her  weakness,  and 
these  motive  powers  are  the  passions  of  man.  Whatever 
her  sex  can  not  do  for  itself,  and  which  is  necessary  or 
agreeable  to  her,  she  must  have  the  art  of  making  us  de- 
sire. She  must  therefore  make  a  profound  study  of  the 
mind  of  man,  not  the  mind  of  man  in  general,  through 
abstraction,  but  the  mind  of  the  men  who  surround  her, 
the  mind  of  the  men  to  whom  she  is  subject,  either  by  law 
or  by  opinion.  She  must  learn  to  penetrate  their  feelings 
through  their  conversation,  their  actions,  their  looks,  and 
their  gestures.  Through  her  conversations,  her  actions, 
her  looks,  and  her  gestures  she  must  know  how  to  give 
them  the  feelings  which  are  pleasing  to  her,  without  even 
seeming  to  think  of  them.  They  will  philosophize  better 
than  she  can  on  the  human  heart,  but  she  will  read  better 


282 

than  they  can  in  the  hearts  of  men.  It  is  for  women  to 
discover,  so  to  speak,  an  experimental  ethics,  and  for  us  to 
reduce  it  to  a  system.  Woman  has  more  spirit  and  man 
more  genius;  woman  observes  and  man  reasons.  From 
this  concurrence  there  result  the  clearest  light  and  the 
most  complete  science  which  the  human  mind  can  acquire 
of  itself — the  surest  knowledge,  in  a  word,  of  one's  self 
and  others  which  is  within  the  scope  of  our  species.  And 
this  is  the  way  in  which  art  may  incessantly  tend  to  per- 
fect the  instrument  given  by  nature. 

The  world  is  woman's  book  ;  when  she  reads  it  wrong, 
it  is  her  fault  or  some  passion  blinds  her.  However,  the 
real  mother,  far  from  being  a  woman  of  the  world,  is 
hardly  less  a  recluse  in  her  house  than  a  nun  in  her  clois- 
ter. We  must  then  do  for  young  women  who  marry  just 
as  we  do  or  ought  to  do  for  those  who  are  placed  in  con- 
vents— show  them  the  pleasures  which  they  part  with 
before  allowing  them  to  renounce  them,  for  fear  that  the 
false  image  of  those  pleasures,  which  are  unknown  to 
them,  may  one  day  come  to  lead  their  hearts  astray  and 
disturb  the  happiness  of  their  retreat.  In  France  girls 
live  in  convents  and  women  travel  the  world  over.  Among 
the  ancients  it  was  just  the  contrary  :  girls,  as  I  have  said, 
indulged  in  sports  and  public  festivals,  while  the  women 
lived  in  retirement.  This  custom  was  the  more  reason- 
able and  better  maintained  the  public  morals.  A  sort  of 
coquetry  is  granted  to  marriageable  girls ;  their  chief 
business  is  to  enjoy  themselves.  Women  have  other  cares 
at  home,  and  no  longer  have  to  search  for  husbands. 
Mothers,  at  least  make  companions  of  your  daughters. 
Give  them  a  sense  of  uprightness  and  a  soul  of  honor,  and 
then  conceal  nothing  from  them,  nothing  which  a  chaste 
eye  may  look  at.  Balls,  banquets,  games,  even  the  theatre, 
everything  which,  wrongly  viewed,  makes  the  charm  of 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  233 

unadvised  youth,  may  be  offered  without  risk  to  uncor- 
rupted  eyes.  The  better  they  see  these  noisy  pleasures 
the  sooner  will  they  be  disgusted  with  them. 

I  hear  the  clamor  which  is  raised  against  me.  What 
girl  will  resist  this  dangerous  example  ?  They  have  no 
sooner  seen  the  world  than  all  their  heads  are  turned  ;  not 
one  of  them  is  willing  to  abandon  it.  This  may  be ;  but 
before  offering  them  this  deceptive  picture,  have  you  pre- 
pared them  well  for  seeing  it  without  emotion?  Have 
you  clearly  announced  to  them  the  objects  which  it  rep- 
resents ?  Have  you  really  painted  them  just  as  they  are  ? 
Have  you  thoroughly  armed  them  against  the  illusions 
of  vanity  ?  Have  you  put  in  their  young  hearts  a  taste 
for  the  true  pleasures  which  are  not  found  in  this  tumult  ? 
What  precautions,  what  measures,  have  you  taken  to  pre- 
serve them  from  the  false  taste  which  is  leading  them 
astray  ?  Far  from  offering  any  opposition  to  the  power 
of  public  prejudice  which  sways  their  minds,  you  have 
nourished  it  there ;  you  have  made  them  love  in  advance 
all  the  frivolous  amusements  which  they  find.  You  make 
them  love  them  still  more  by  surrendering  them  to 
them.  Young  women  entering  society  have  no  other 
governess  than  a  mother  who  is  often  more  senseless 
than  they  are,  and  who  can  show  them  objects  only  as  she 
sees  them.  Her  example,  stronger  even  than  reason, 
justifies  them  in  their  own  eyes,  and  the  authority  of  the 
mother  is  for  the  daughter  an  unanswerable  excuse. 
When  I  advise  a  mother  to  introduce  her  daughter  into 
society,  it  is  on  the  supposition  that  she  will  make  her  see 
it  just  as  it  is. 

The  evil  begins  still  earlier.  The  convents  are  veri- 
table schools  of  coquetry — not  of  that  honest  coquetry  of 
which  I  have  spoken,  but  of  that  which  produces  all 
the  caprices  of  women  and  makes  the  most  extravagant 


female  fops.  On  leaving  them  to  enter  at  once  into  the 
din  of  social  life,  young  women  at  first  feel  that  they 
are  in  their  place.  They  have  been  educated  to  live  there, 
and  need  we  be  astonished  if  they  find  themselves  at 
home  ?  I  do  not  put  forward  what  I  am  going  to  say 
without  fear  of  taking  a  prejudice  for  an  observation; 
but  it  seems  to  me  that,  in  general,  Protestant  countries 
have  more  family  affection,  more  worthy  wives,  and  more 
tender  mothers  than  Catholic  countries ;  and  if  this  is 
true,  we  can  not  doubt  that  this  difference  is  due  in  part 
to  the  education  of  convents. 

In  order  to  love  the  peaceful  life  of  the  home,  we  must 
know  it;  we  must  have  felt  its  charms  from  infancy. 
It  is  only  under  the  paternal  roof  that  we  contract  a 
taste  for  our  own  home,  and  a  woman  who  has  not  been 
educated  by  her  mother  will  not  love  to  educate  her 
children.  Unfortunately,  private  education  in  our  large 
cities  no  longer  exists.  Society  there  is  so  general  and 
so  mixed  that  there  is  no  longer  an  asylum  for  retreat, 
and  we  live  in  public  even  at  home.  By  reason  of  living 
with  everybody  we  no  longer  have  a  family,  we  hardly 
know  our  parents,  we  see  them  as  strangers,  and  the 
simplicity  of  domestic  manners  has  become  extinct  along 
with  the  sweet  familiarity  which  constituted  its  charm. 
It  is  thus  that  with  our  milk  we  imbibe  a  taste  for  the 
pleasures  of  the  world  and  for  the  maxims  which  we  see 
prevailing  there. 

An  apparent  restraint  is  imposed  on  girls  to  order  to 
find  dupes  who  will  marry  them  on  the  strength  of  their 
deportment.  But  study  these  young  persons  for  a  mo- 
ment. Under  an  air  of  constraint  they  poorly  disguise 
the  lust  which  devours  them,  and  already  we  read  in  their 
eyes  the  ardent  desire  to  imitate  their  mothers.  What 
they  covet  is  not  a  husband,  but  the  license  of  marriage. 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  WOMAN.  285 

All  these  different  educations  equally  create  in  young 
persons  a  taste  for  the  pleasures  of  gay  society,  and  to 
the  passions  which  soon  spring  from  this  taste.  In 
the  large  cities  the  depravation  begins  with  life,  and  in 
the  small  it  begins  with  reason.  Young  women  from  the 
provinces,  taught  to  despise  the  happy  simplicity  of  their 
manners,  make  haste  to  come  to  Paris  to  share  the  cor- 
ruption of  ours  ;  the  vices  adorned  with  the  fine  name  of 
talents  are  the  sole  object  of  their  journey  ;  and,  ashamed 
on  arriving  to  find  themselves  so  far  from  the  noble  free- 
dom of  city  women,  they  are  not  slow  in  deserving  to  be 
considered  residents  of  the  capital.  In  your  opinion, 
where  does  the  evil  begin — in  the  place  where  it  was 
conceived,  or  in  the  place  where  it  was  accomplished  ? 

I  would  not  have  a  sensible  mother  take  her  daugh- 
ter from  the  provinces  to  Paris  in  order  to  show  her  these 
sights  so  pernicious  to  others ;  but  I  say  that  if  this  is  done, 
either  that  daughter  has  been  badly  educated  or  these 
sights  will  have  little  danger  for  her.  With  taste,  sense, 
and  love  for  things  honorable,  we  do  not  find  them  so 
attractive  as  they  are  for  those  who  allow  themselves  to 
be  charmed  by  them.  At  Paris  we  may  observe  young, 
hare-brained  girls,  who  have  come  in  haste  to  copy  the 
manners  of  the  city  and  have  devoted  themselves  to  the 
fashions  for  six  months,  only  to  make  themselves  hissed 
for  the  rest  of  their  lives ;  but  who  takes  notice  of  those 
who,  disgusted  by  all  this  hubbub,  return  to  their  prov- 
ince content  with  their  lot,  after  having  compared  it 
with  that  which  is  the  envy  of  others  ?  How  many  young 
women  I  have  seen  brought  to  the  capital  by  their  good- 
natured  husbands,  and  at  liberty  to  stay  there,  who  dis- 
suaded their  husbands  from  this  purpose,  departed  more 
willingly  than  they  had  come,  and  feelingly  said,  on.  the 
eve  of  their  departure :  "  Ah,  let  us  return  to  our  humble 


286  EMILE. 

home  ;  life  is  much  happier  there  than  in  the  palaces  of 
Paris."  We  do  not  know  how  many  good  people  there 
still  are  who  have  not  bent  the  knee  before  the  idol  and 
who  despise  his  senseless  worship.  Only  fools  are  loud 
in  their  conduct ;  women  who  are  wise  create  no  sensa- 
tion. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  disgust  young  girls  with  your 
long  sermons  nor  to  retail  to  them  your  dry  moralities. 
For  both  sexes  these  moral  lectures  are  the  death  of  all 
good  education.  Gloomy  lessons  serve  only  to  involve  in 
hatred  both  those  who  give  them  and  all  that  they  say. 
It  is  not  necessary,  in  speaking  to  young  women,  to  make 
them  afraid  of  their  duties,  nor  to  make  more  grievous 
the  yoke  which  is  imposed  on  them  by  nature.  In  setting 
forth  their  duties,  be  precise  and  affable ;  do  not  allow 
them  to  think  that  the  discharge  of  duty  is  disagreeable ; 
do  not  wear  an  air  of  displeasure  or  of  solemnity.  All 
that  is  to  go  to  the  heart  ought  to  come  from  it ;  their 
moral  catechism  ought  to  be  as  short  and  as  clear  as  their 
religious  catechism,  but  it  ought  not  to  be  as  grave. 
Show  them  that  the  source  of  their  pleasures  and  the 
basis  of  their  rights  lie  in  the  same  duties.  Is  it  so  pain- 
ful to  love  in  order  to  be  loved,  to  make  oneself  amiable 
in  order  to  be  loved,  to  make  oneself  estimable  in  order 
to  be  obeyed,  and  to  make  oneself  honorable  in  order  to 
be  honored  ? 

Would  you,  then,  inspire  young  women  with  a  love  for 
good  morals  ?  Without  saying  to  them  constantly,  Be  dis- 
crete, create  in  them  a  strong  interest  in  being  so ;  make 
them  feel  all  the  value  of  discretion,  and  you  will  make 
them  love  it.  It  is  not  enough  to  place  this  interest  in  a 
distant  future ;  show  it  to  them  in  the  present  moment, 
in  current  events,  and  in  the  character  of  their  admirers. 
Depict  to  them  the  man  of  probity,  the  man  of  merit, 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  287 

and  prove  to  them  that  when  they  are  loved,  only  such  a 
man  can  make  them  happy.  Encourage  virtue  through  an 
appeal  to  reason ;  make  them  feel  that  the  power  of  their 
sex  and  all  its  advantages  do  not  depend  solely  on  their 
good  conduct  and  morals,  but  also  on  those  of  men ;  that 
they  have  little  hold  on  vile  and  low  natures,  and  that  a 
man  can  serve  his  sweetheart  only  so  far  as  he  can  serve 
virtue.  You  may  then  be  sure  that,  by  depicting  to  them 
the  manners  of  the  day,  you  will  inspire  them  with  a  sin- 
cere disgust  for  them ;  and  that,  by  showing  them  the 
men  of  fashion,  you  will  make  them  despise  them ;  you 
will  give  them  only  dislike  for  their  maxims,  an  aversion 
for  their  sentiments,  and  a  disdain  for  their  vain  compli- 
ments ;  you  will  cause  to  spring  up  in  them  a  nobler  am- 
bition— that  of  reigning  over  grand  and  powerful  souls — 
that  of  the  women  of  Sparta,  which  was  to  command  men. 

Sophie  is  well  born  and  has  a  good  disposition ;  she 
has  a  very  sensitive  heart,  and  this  extreme  sensibility 
sometimes  gives  her  an  activity  of  imagination  difficult 
to  control.  She  has  a  mind  less  accurate  than  penetrat- 
ing ;  a  temper  that  is  yielding  and  yet  unequal ;  a  figure 
plain  but  agreeable ;  a  physiognomy  which  bespeaks  a 
soul  and  does  not  lie ;  people  may  approach  her  with 
indifference,  but  can  not  leave  her  without  emotion. 
Others  have  good  qualities  which  she  lacks ;  others  have 
in  a  larger  measure  those  which  she  has ;  but  no  one  has 
qualities  better  suited  for  producing  a  happy  character. 
She  knows  how  to  derive  advantage  even  from  her 
faults ;  and  if  she  were  more  perfect  she  would  be  less 
pleasing. 

Sophie  is  not  beautiful ;  but  in  her  presence  men  for- 
get beautiful  women,  and  beautiful  women  are  discon- 
tented with  themselves.  At  first  sight  she  is  hardly 
pretty,  but  the  more  we  see  her  the  more  beautiful  she 


288  EMILE. 

looks ;  she  gains  where  so  many  others  lose,  and  what  she 
gains  she  does  not  afterward  lose.  We  may  see  more 
beautiful  eyes,  a  finer  mouth,  and  a  more  imposing  pres- 
ence ;  but  no  one  can  have  a  more  finely  shaped  figure,  a 
more  beautiful  complexion,  a  whiter  hand,  a  more  dainty 
foot,  a  sweeter  smile,  or  a  more  touching  countenance^ 
She  interests  without  dazzling ;  she  charms,  but  no  one 
can  tell  why. 

Sophie  loves  dress,  and  is  a  good  judge  of  it;  her 
mother  has  no  other  waiting-maid ;  she  has  much  taste  in 
dressing  herself  to  advantage,  but  she  hates  rich  gar- 
ments, and  in  what  she  wears  we  always  see  simplicity 
united  with  elegance ;  she  does  not  love  what  glitters  but 
what  is  becoming ;  she  does  not  know  what  the  fashion- 
able colors  are,  but  she  knows  perfectly  which  are  becom- 
ing to  her.  There  is  no  young  woman  who  seems  dressed 
with  less  study,  yet  whose  attire  is  more  elegant ;  there  is 
not  a  single  article  of  her  clothing  chosen  at  random,  yet 
in  no  one  of  them  is  there  the  appearance  of  art.  Her 
attire  is  very  modest  in  appearance  but  very  coquettish  in 
effect ;  she  does  not  display  her  charms,  she  covers  them  ; 
but  in  covering  them  she  knows  how  to  make  them  im- 
agined. 

Sophie  has  natural  talents ;  she  is  conscious  of  them, 
and  has  not  neglected  them ;  but  not  having  been  in  a 
condition  to  devote  much  art  to  their  culture,  she  has 
been  content  to  exercise  her  fine  voice  in  singing  with 
accuracy  and  taste,  her  little  feet  in  walking  trippingly, 
easily,  and  gracefully,  and  in  making  courtesies  in  all  sorts 
of  situations  without  embarrassment  or  awkwardness. 
Moreover,  she  has  had  no  teacher  of  singing  save  her 
father,  and  no  dancing-master  but  her  mother ;  an  organ- 
ist of  the  neighborhood  has  given  her  a  few  lessons  in 
accompaniment  on  the  harpsichord,  which  she  has  since 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN".  289 

practiced  by  herself.  At  first  her  only  thought  was  to 
exhibit  her  hand  to  advantage  on  the  black  keys ;  next 
she  discovered  that  the  sharp  and  thin  sound  of  the 
harpsichord  made  the  sound  of  her  voice  more  melodi- 
ous ;  little  by  little  she  became  sensitive  to  the  harmony ; 
and  finally,  as  she  grew  up,  she  began  to  feel  the  charms 
of  expression  and  to  love  music  for  itself.  But  this  is  a 
taste  rather  than  a  talent ;  she  is  unable  to  play  a  tune 
by  note. 

What  Sophie  knows  best,  and  what  has  been  taught 
her  with  the  most  care,  is  the  work  of  her  sex,  even  those 
kinds  which  are  not  usually  considered,  like  cutting  and 
making  her  dresses.  There  is  no  kind  of  needle-work 
which  she  does  not  know  how  to  do,  and  which  she  does 
not  do  with  pleasure ;  but  the  work  which  she  prefers  to 
all  others  is  lace-making,  because  there  is  none  which 
affords  a  more  pleasing  attitude  and  in  which  the  fingers 
are  exercised  with  more  grace  and  deftness.  She  has  also 
devoted  herself  to  all  the  details  of  housekeeping.  She 
is  acquainted  with  the  kitchen  and  the  pantry ;  she  knows 
the  price  of  provisions,  and  also  their  qualities ;  she  has  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  book-keeping,  and  serves  her 
mother  as  housekeeper.  Destined  one  day  to  become 
the  head  of  a  family,  by  directing  the  father's  household 
she  learns  to  direct  her  own.  She  can  take  the  place  of 
servants,  and  always  does  so  willingly.  We  can  never 
order  a  thing  done  properly  which  we  do  not  know  how 
to  do  ourselves ;  this  is  the  reason  why  Sophie's  mother 
employs  her  in  this  way.  But  Sophie  does  not  look  so  far 
ahead ;  her  first  duty  is  that  of  daughter,  and  it  is  now 
the  only  one  which  she  thinks  of  fulfilling.  Her  simple 
purpose  is  to  serve  her  mother,  and  to  relieve  her  of  a  part 
of  her  cares.  It  is  true,  however,  that  she  does  not  dis- 
charge all  these  duties  with  equal  pleasure.  For  example, 


290 

though  she  is  fond  of  eating,  she  does  not  love  cooking ; 
its  details  have  something  of  disgust  for  her ;  she  never 
finds  sufficient  neatness  in  it.  On  this  point  she  has  an 
extreme  delicacy,  and  this  delicacy,  carried  to  an  extreme, 
has  become  one  of  her  faults ;  she  would  rather  let  the 
whole  dinner  burn  up  than  soil  a  ruffle.  For  the  same 
reason,  she  has  never  been  willing  to  oversee  the  garden — 
the  earth  seems  unclean  to  her. 

She  owes  this  fault  to  the  lessons  of  her  mother. 
According  to  her,  among  the  duties  of  woman,  one  of 
the  first  is  cleanliness  —  a  duty'  that  is  special,  indis- 
pensable, and  imposed  by  nature.  There  is  no  more 
disgusting  object  in  the  world  than  a  slovenly  woman, 
and  a  husband  who  is  disgusted  with  her  is  never  wrong. 
She  has  preached  this  duty  to  her  daughter  so  much  from 
her  childhood,  she  has  exacted  of  her  so  much  cleanliness 
with  respect  to  her  person,  her  clothing,  her  apartment, 
her  work,  and  her  toilet,  that  all  these  attentions,  con- 
verted into  habit,  take  up  quite  a  large  part  of  her  time, 
and  even  encroach  on  the  remainder ;  so  that  to  do  well 
whatever  she  does  is  but  the  second  of  her  cares ;  the  first 
is  always  to  do  it  neatly. 

Nevertheless,  all  this  has  not  degenerated  into  vain 
affectation  nor  into  want  of  spirit,  and  the  refinements  of 
luxury  play  no  part  in  it.  Only  simple  water  will  ever 
enter  her  apartment ;  she  knows  no  other  perfume  than 
that  of  flowers,  and  her  husband  will  never  breathe  one 
sweeter  than  her  breath.  Finally,  the  affection  which  she 
bestows  on  the  exterior  does  not  make  her  forget  that  she 
owes  her  life  and  her  time  to  nobler  duties.  She  ignores 
or  disdains  that  excessive  cleanliness  of  body  which  soils 
the  soul.  Sophie  is  much  more  than  clean — she  is  pure. 

I  have  said  that  Sophie  was  fond  of  eating ;  she  was  so 
naturally ;  but  she  has  become  temperate  by  habit,  and  is 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  291 

now  so  by  virtue.  It  is  not  with  girls  as  with  boys,  who 
can  be  governed  up  to  a  certain  point  by  their  appetite. 
This  inclination  has  its  consequences  for  the  sex ;  it  is  too 
dangerous  to  go  unchecked.  The  little  Sophie,  in  her 
girlhood,  going  alone  into  her  mother's  pantry,  did  not 
always  come  back  empty-handed,  and  her  fidelity  with 
respect  to  sugar-plums  and  bonbons  was  not  above  sus- 
picion. Her  mother  detected  her,  reproved  her,  punished 
her,  and  made  her  fast.  At  last  she  succeeded  in  per- 
suading her  that  bonbons  spoiled  the  teeth,  and  that  eat- 
ing too  much  made  one  stout.  In  this  way  Sophie  re- 
formed. As  she  grew  up  she  contracted  other  tastes, 
which  have  turned  her  aside  from  this  low  sensuality.  In 
women,  as  in  men,  as  soon  as  the  heart  grows  warm 
gluttony  is  no  longer  a  dominant  vice.  Sophie  has  pre- 
served the  characteristic  taste  of  her  sex  :  she  likes  milk, 
butter,  cream,  and  sweetmeats ;  is  fond  of  pastry  and  des- 
sert, but  eats  very  little  meat ;  she  has  never  tasted  either 
wine  or  intoxicating  liquors.  Moreover,  she  eats  very 
moderately  of  everything;  her  sex,  less  laborious  than 
ours,  has  less  need  to  repair  its  waste.  In  everything  she 
likes  what  is  good,  and  knows  how  to  enjoy  it ;  she  also 
knows  how  to  put  up  with  what  is  not  so,  without  allowing 
this  privation  to  cost  her  anything. 

Sophie  has  a  mind  pleasing  without  being  brilliant, 
and  solid  without  being  profound — a  mind  of  which 
people  say  nothing,  because  they  never  observe  in  it 
either  more  or  less  than  in  their  own.  She  always  has  a 
mind  which  pleases  the  people  who  speak  to  her,  although 
it  is  not  copiously  adorned  according  to  the  notion  which 
we  have  of  the  intellectual  culture  of  women ;  for  hers 
has  not  been  formed  by  reading,  but  only  by  the  conver- 
sations of  her  father  and  mother,  by  her  own  reflections, 
and  by  the  observations  which  she  has  made  in  the  little, 
23 


292  EMILE. 

of  the  world  which  she  has  seen.  Sophie  is  naturally 
gay — she  was  even  frolicsome  in  her  childhood  ;  but  little 
by  little  her  mother  has  taken  care  to  repress  her  giddy 
airs,  for  fear  that  too  sudden  a  change  might  ere  long 
apprise  her  of  the  moment  which  had  rendered  it  neces- 
sary. She  has  therefore  become  modest  and  reserved  even 
before  the  time  for  being  so ;  and  now  that  this  time 
has  come,  it  is  easier  for  her  to  preserve  the  tone  she  has 
taken,  than  it  would  have  been  to  take  it  without  indi- 
cating the  reason  for  this  change.  It  is  a  pleasant  thing 
to  see  her  occasionally  abandoning  herself,  through  a 
residuum  of  the  habit,  to  the  vivacities  of  childhood,  and 
then  suddenly  come  to  herself,  grow  silent,  lower  her  eyes, 
and  blush.  The  intermediate  term  between  the  two  ages 
must  necessarily  partake  somewhat  of  each. 

Sophie  has  too  great  a  sensibility  to  preserve  a  perfect 
evenness  of  disposition ;  she  has  too  much  sweetness  for 
this  sensibility  to  be  very  annoying  to  others ;  it  is  to  her- 
self alone  that  she  does  wrong.  Let  a  single  word  be 
spoken  which  wounds  her,  and  she  does  not  pout,  but  her 
heart  swells,  and  she  tries  to  escape  in  order  to  go  and 
weep.  But  if,  in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  she  is  recalled 
by  her  father  or  her  mother,  she  instantly  appears,  cheer- 
ful and  smiling,  while  drying  her  eyes  and  trying  to  stifle 
her  sobs. 

Nor  is  she  wholly  exempt  from  caprice ;  her  temper, 
if  provoked  a  little  too  much,  degenerates  into  unruliness, 
and  then  she  is  liable  to .  forget  herself.  But  allow  her 
time  to  come  to  herself,  and  her  manner  of  making  amends 
for  her  fault  will  make  it  almost  meritorious.  When  pun- 
ished, she  is  docile  and  submissive,  and  we  see  that  her 
shame  arises  not  so  much  from  her  chastisement  as  from 
the  fault.  If  nothing  is  said  to  her,  she  never  fails  to 
make  reparation  of  her  own  accord,  but  so  frankly  and 


THE   EDUCATION   OF  WOMAN.  293 

with  such  good  grace  that  it  is  not  possible  to  bear  any 
ill-will.  She  would  kiss  the  ground  before  the  meanest 
domestic,  and  yet  this  abasement  would  not  cause  her  the 
least  pain,  and  the  moment  she  is  pardoned  she  shows  by 
her  joy  and  her  caresses  of  what  a  weight  her  good  heart 
has  been  relieved.  In  a  word,  she  suffers  the  wrongs  of 
others  with  patience,  and  repairs  her  own  with  pleasure. 
Such  is  the  lovable  nature  of  her  sex  before  we  have  spoiled 
it.  Woman  is  made  to  submit  to  man,  and  even  to  endure 
his  injustice.  You  will  never  reduce  young  boys  to  the 
same  point ;  in  them  the  inner  sense  rises  in  revolt  against 
injustice ;  nature  has  not  made  them  for  tolerating  it. 

Sophie  is  religious,  but  her  religion  is  reasonable  and 
simple,  with  few  dogmas  and  fewer  practices  of  devotion ; 
or  rather,  knowing  no  essential  practice  save  morality,  she 
devotes  her  whole  life  to  serving  God  by  doing  good.  In 
all  the  instructions  which  her  parents  have  given  her  on 
this  subject  they  have  accustomed  her  to  a  respectful  sub- 
mission, by  always  saying  to  her :  "  My  daughter,  this 
knowledge  is  beyond  your  years ;  your  husband  will  in- 
struct you  in  it  when  the  time  comes."  However,  in 
place  of  pious  discourses  long  drawn  out,  they  content 
themselves  with  preaching  piety  to  her  through  their  ex- 
ample, and  this  example  is  graven  on  her  heart. 

Sophie  loves  virtue,  and  this  love  has  become  her 
ruling  passion.  She  loves  it  because  there  is  nothing  so 
beautiful  as  virtue ;  she  loves  it  because  virtue  constitutes 
the  glory  of  woman,  and  a  virtuous  woman  seems  to  her 
almost  equal  to  an  angel ;  she  loves  it  as  the  only  road  to 
true  happiness,  and  because  she  sees  only  misery,  deser- 
tion, misfortune,  opprobrium,  and  ignominy  in  the  life  of 
a  corrupt  woman ;  finally,  she  loves  it  because  it  is  dear  to 
her  venerated  father  and  to  her  tender  and  honored  moth- 
er. Not  content  with  being  happy  in  their  own  virtue, 


294  EMILE. 

they  wish  also  to  be  happy  in  hers ;  and  her  chief  happi- 
ness is  the  hope  of  making  them  happy.  All  these  feel- 
ings inspire  her  with  an  enthusiasm  which  exalts  her  soul, 
and  holds  all  her  lower  inclinations  in  subjection  to  such 
a  noble  passion.  Sophie  will  be  chaste  and  upright  even 
to  her  last  breath  ;  she  has  sworn  it  in  the  depths  of  her 
soul,  and  at  a  time  when  she  felt  all  that  such  an  oath 
might  cost  her  to  keep ;  she  has  sworn  it  when  she  might 
have  revoked  the  engagement  if  her  senses  had  been  made 
to  reign  over  her. 

Sophie  has  not  the  honor  of  being  an  amiable  French 
woman,  cold  by  temperament  and  coquettish  by  vanity, 
wishing  rather  to  shine  than  to  please,  and  seeking  amuse- 
ment rather  than  pleasure.  The  one  need  of  loving  de- 
vours her,  and  comes  to  distract  and  trouble  her  heart  in 
the  midst  of  her  enjoyments;  she  has  lost  her  old-time 
gayety ;  her  playful  amusements  are  no  longer  enjoyed  by 
her;  far  from  fearing  the  irksomeness  of  solitude,  she 
seeks  it ;  she  there  thinks  of  the  one  who  is  to  make  it 
agreeable  to  her.  All  the  indifferent  displease  her ;  she 
does  not  desire  a  courtship,  but  a  lover ;  she  would  rather 
please  a  single  good  man,  and  please  him  always,  than  to 
excite  in  her  favor  the  applause  of  the  world,  which  lasts 
a  day  and  then  is  turned  into  jeers. 

The  judgment  is  developed  sooner  in  women  than  in 
men ;  being  on  the  defensive  almost  from  their  child- 
hood, and  charged  with  a  treasure  difficult  to  guard,  good 
and  evil  are  necessarily  sooner  known  to  them.  As  her 
temperament  inclines  her  to  be  precocious  in  everything, 
the  judgment  is  developed  earlier  in  Sophie  than  in  other 
girls  of  her  age.  There  is  nothing  very  extraordinary  in 
this,  for  maturity  is  not  everywhere  the  same  at  the  same 

Sophie  is  instructed  in  the  rights  and  duties  of  her  sex 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  295 

and  of  ours.  She  knows  the  faults  of  men  and  the  vices 
of  women ;  she  also  knows  the  good  qualities,  the  oppo- 
site virtues,  and  has  them  all  imprinted  in  the  depth  of 
her  heart.  One  can  not  have  a  higher  idea  of  a  noble 
woman  than  she  has  conceived  of  her,  and  this  idea  does 
not  frighten  her ;  but  she  thinks  with  more  complacency 
of  the  noble  man,  the  man  of  merit ;  she  feels  that  she  is 
made  for  such  a  man,  that  she  is  worthy  of  him,  that  she 
can  return  to  him  the  happiness  which  she  will  receive 
from  him,  and  she  feels  that  she  will  be  perfectly  able  to 
recognize  him ;  it  is  merely  a  question  of  finding  him. 

Women  are  the  natural  judges  of  the  merits  of  men,  as 
men  are  of  the  merits  of  women ;  this  is  a  mutual  right, 
and  neither  sex  is  ignorant  of  it.  Sophie  is  conscious 
of  this  right,  and  makes  use  of  it,  but  with  the  modesty 
befitting  her  youth,  her  inexperience,  and  her  station ;  she 
judges  only  of  things  which  are  within  her  comprehen- 
sion, and  she  judges  of  them  only  when  this  serves  to 
develop  some  useful  rule  of  conduct.  She  speaks  of  the 
absent  only  with  the  greatest  circumspection,  especially  if 
they  are  women.  She  thinks  that  what  makes  them  slan- 
derous and  satirical  is  the  habit  of  speaking  of  their  own 
sex ;  for  as  long  as  they  restrict  themselves  to  speaking  of 
ours  they  are  only  just.  Sophie,  then,  limits  herself  to 
this.  As  to  women,  she  never  speaks  of  them  save  to  say 
of  them  the  good  which  she  knows — it  is  an  honor  which 
she  thinks  she  owes  to  her  sex ;  and  of  her  of  whom  she 
knows  nothing  good  to  say,  she  says  nothing  at  all,  and 
this  is  understood. 

Sophie  is  little  versed  in  the  ways  of  the  world ;  but 
she  is  obliging,  attentive,  and  puts  an  air  of  grace  into 
everything  she  does.  A  happy  disposition  serves  her 
better  than  much  art.  She  has  a  certain  politeness  of 
her  own  which  does  not  depend  on  formulas,  which  is  not 


296  EMILE. 

subject  to  fashion,  which  does  not  change  with  it,  which 
does  nothing  through  custom,  but  which  comes  from  a 
true  desire  to  please,  and  which  does  please.  She  knows 
nothing  of  trivial  compliments,  and  does  not  go  out  of 
her  way  to  invent  them ;  she  does  not  say  that  she  is 
greatly  obliged,  that  one  does  her  great  honor,  that  one 
need  not  take  the  trouble,  etc.  Much  less  does  she 
think  of  exchanging  compliments. 

To  a  courtesy,  or  to  a  formal  act  of  politeness,  she 
replies  by  a  bow  or  by  an  /  thank  you ;  but  this  word 
from  her  mouth  is  worth  many  others.  For  a  real  serv- 
ice she  lets  her  heart  speak,  and  it  is  not  a  compliment 
that  it  dictates.  She  has  never  allowed  French  customs 
to  subject  her  to  the  yoke  of  affectation,  as  in  giving  her 
arm,  while  going  from  one  room  to  another,  to  an  old 
man  of  sixty  whom  she  might  the  rather  desire  to  assist. 
When  a  perfumed  gallant  offers  her  this  impertinent  serv- 
ice she  leaves  this  officious  aid  on  the  stairs,  and  trips  into 
the  parlor,  saying  that  she  is  not  lame.  In  fact,  although 
she  is  not  tall,  she  has  never  wished  for  high  heels ;  she 
has  feet  that  are  small  enough  to  do  without  them. 

She  not  only  maintains  a  silent  and  respectful  bearing 
in  the  presence  of  women,  but  even  in  the  presence  of 
married  men,  or  those  much  older  than  she  is ;  she  will 
never  accept  a  place  above  them  save  through  obedience, 
and  will  resume  her  own  place  below  them  the  moment 
she  is  able  to  do  so  ;  for  she  knows  that  age  has  prece- 
dence over  sex,  as  it  carries  with  it  the  presumption  of 
wisdom,  which  ought  to  be  honored  before  everything 
else. 

"With  young  men  of  her  age  it  is  different.  She  has 
need  of  a  different  manner  in  order  to  impress  them,  and 
she  can  assume  it  without  forsaking  the  modest  air  which 
becomes  her.  If  they  are  modest  and  reserved  them- 


THE   EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  297 

selves,  she  will  willingly  continue  with  them  the  pleasing 
familiarity  of  youth ;  their  conversations,  full  of  inno- 
cence, will  be  playful  but  decent ;  if  they  become  serious, 
she  tries  to  make  them  useful ;  if  they  degenerate  into 
insipidity,  she  will  soon  bring  them  to  a  close ;  for  she 
has  a  supreme  contempt  for  the  petty  cant  of  gallantry 
as  very  offensive  to  her  sex.  She  well  knows  that  the 
man  whom  she  seeks  does  not  indulge  in  this  cant,  and 
she  never  willingly  suffers  from  another  what  is  improper 
for  him  whose  character  is  imprinted  in  the  depths  of 
her  heart.  The  high  opinion  which  she  has  of  the  rights 
of  her  sex,  the  pride  of  soul  which  gives  her  the  purity 
of  her  feelings,  that  energy  of  virtue  which  she  feels  in 
herself  and  which  makes  her  respectable  in  her  own  eyes, 
make  her  listen  with  indignation  to  the  mawkish  speeches 
with  which  people  presume  to  amuse  her.  She  does  not 
receive  them  with  an  anger  that  is  apparent,  but  with  an 
ironical  applause  which  is  disconcerting,  or  with  a  cool- 
ness of  manner  which  is  unexpected.  Let  a  loquacious 
beau  pay  her  compliments,  extol  her  in  high  terms  for 
her  wit,  for  her  beauty,  her  graces,  and  for  the  priceless 
happiness  of  pleasing  her,  and  she  promptly  interrupts 
him  by  saying  politely  :  "  Sir,  I  am  very  much  afraid  that 
I  know  those  things  better  than  you  do,  and  if  we  have 
nothing  more  interesting  to  talk  about,  I  think  we  had 
better  cut  short  our  conversation  at  this  point."  To  ac- 
company these  words  with  a  grand  courtesy,  and  then  to 
find  herself  twenty  paces  from  him,  is  to  her  but  the  work 
of  an  instant.  Ask  your  fops  if  it  is  easy  to  show  off 
their  wit  at  any  length  before  a  character  as  testy  as  this 
one. 

This  is  not  saying,  however,  that  she  does  not  greatly 
love  to  be  praised,  provided  it  is  in  earnest,  and  that  she 
can  believe  that  what  is  said  of  her  is  really  sincere.  In 


298  EMILE. 

order  to  appear  affected  by  her  merits  we  must  begin  by 
showing  some  ourselves.  Homage  founded  on  esteem 
may  flatter  her  haughty  spirit,  but  all  gallant  quizzing  is 
always  repelled ;  Sophie  was  not  made  to  practice  the 
little  arts  of  a  stage-dancer. 

With  such  a  great  maturity  of  judgment,  and  devel- 
oped in  all  respects  like  a  girl  of  twenty,  Sophie  at  fifteen 
will  not  be  treated  by  her  parents  as  a  child.  They  no 
sooner  observe  in  her  the  first  restlessness  of  youth  than 
they  hasten  to  provide  for  it  before  it  progresses  further ; 
they  will  hold  tender  and  sensible  conversations  with  her. 
These  conversations  are  adapted  to  her  age  and  character. 
If  this  character  is  such  as  I  have  imagined  it  to  be,  why 
might  not  her  father  address  her  somewhat  as  follows  ? 

"  Sophie,  you  are  now  a  large  girl,  and  it  is  not  always 
to  remain  a  girl  that  you  have  become  such.  We  wish 
you  to  be  happy,  and  it  is  for  our  sakes  that  we  wish  this, 
because  our  happiness  depends  on  yours.  The  happiness 
of  a  noble  girl  consists  in  making  a  good  man  happy. 
We  must  therefore  think  of  your  marriage,  and  we  must 
think  of  it  thus  early,  for  on  marriage  depends  the  des- 
tiny of  life,  and  there  is  never  too  much  time  for  think- 
ing of  this. 

"  Nothing  is  more  difficult  than  the  choice  of  a  good 
husband,  save,  perhaps,  that  of  a  good  wife.  Sophie, 
you  shall  be  that  rare  woman.  You  shall  be  the  glory  of 
our  life  and  the  happiness  of  our  old  age ;  but  with  what- 
ever accomplishments  you  may  be  endowed,  the  world 
will  never  be  lacking  in  men  who  are  still  more  accom- 
plished than  you  are.  There  is  not  one  who  ought  not  to 
feel  honored  by  honoring  you,  but  there  are  many  who 
would  honor  you  more.  Of  this  number  it  is  your  task  to 
find  one  who  is  fit  for  you,  and  to  make  yourself  acquainted 
with  him,  and  him  acquainted  with  you, 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  299 

"  Your  mother  was  of  good  family,  and  I  was  rich ; 
and  these  were  the  sole  considerations  which  induced  our 
parents  to  unite  us  I  have  lost  my  property  and  she  has 
lost  her  rank.  Forgotten  by  her  family,  of  what  use  is 
it  to  her  to-day  to  have  been  born  a  lady  ?  In  our  mis- 
fortunes the  union  of  our  hearts  has  consoled  us  for  all 
our  losses ;  conformity  of  tastes  has  made  us  choose  this 
retreat.  We  live  here  happy  in  our  poverty,  and  what 
each  is  to  the  other  takes  the  place  of  all  besides.  Sophie 
is  our  common  treasure.  We  thank  Heaven  for  having 
given  her  to  us  and  for  having  taken  from  us  everything 
else.  See,  my  child,  where  Providence  has  led  us.  The 
considerations  which  led  to  our  marriage  have  disap- 
peared, and  we  are  happy  only  by  reason  of  those  which 
then  counted  for  nothing. 

"  Husband  and  wife  must  be  matched.  Mutual  in- 
clination ought  to  be  their  first  bond.  Their  eyes  and 
their  hearts  ought  to  be  their  first  guides ;  for  as  their 
first  duty,  when  united,  is  to  love  each  other,  as  loving  or 
not  loving  does  not  depend  on  ourselves,  this  duty  neces- 
sarily involves  another,  and  this  is  to  begin  by  loving  each 
other  before  becoming  united.  This  is  the  law  of  nature, 
which  nothing  can  abrogate ;  and  those  who  have  ob- 
structed its  action  by  so  many  civil  laws,  have  had  more 
regard  for  apparent  order  than  for  the  happiness  of  mar- 
riage and  the  morals  of  citizens.  You  see,  my  Sophie, 
that  we  are  not  preaching  to  you  a  difficult  morality.  It 
tends  merely  to  make  you  mistress  of  yourself,  and  to 
bring  us  into  consultation  with  you  on  the  choice  of  your 
husband. 

"  After  having  stated  to  you  our  reasons  for  granting 
you  entire  liberty,  it  is  just  to  speak  to  you  also  of  the 
reasons  why  you  should  use  this  liberty  with  wisdom.  If 
equality  of  merit  were  the  only  question,  I  do  not  kno^v 


300  EMILE. 

what  limit  I  ought  to  place  on  your  hopes ;  but  do  not 
raise  them  above  your  fortune,  and  do  not  forget  that  it  is 
of  the  lowest  rank.  Although  a  man  worthy  of  you  does 
not  count  this  inequality  as  an  obstacle,  you  ought  to  do 
in  that  case  what  he  will  not  do.  Sophie  ought  to  imitate 
her  mother,  and  enter  only  a  family  which  feels  honored 
by  her.  You  have  not  seen  our  opulence.  You  were  born 
during  our  poverty,  and  you  have  made  it  sweet  to  us  by 
sharing  it  without  complaint.  Believe  me,  Sophie,  never 
seek  property,  of  which  we  thank  Heaven  for  having 
relieved  us.  We  never  tasted  happiness  until  after  having 
lost  our  wealth. 

"  You  will  be  sought  for,  and  doubtless  by  persons  who 
will  not  be  worthy  of  you.  If  they  appeared  to  you  as 
they  really  are,  you  would  estimate  them  for  what  they 
are  worth;  all  their  display  would  not  long  impose  on 
you ;  but,  although  you  have  good  judgment  and  know 
your  own  merits,  you  are  lacking  in  experience,  and  do 
not  know  to  what  extent  men  can  disguise  themselves. 
An  adroit  rascal  may  study  your  tastes  in  order  to  lead 
you  astray,  and  in  your  presence  feign  virtues  which  he 
does  not  have.  This  one  might  ruin  you,  Sophie,  before 
you  were  aware  of  it,  and  you  would  become  conscious  of 
your  error  only  to  weep  over  it.  The  most  dangerous  of 
all  snares,  and  the  only  one  which  reason  can  not  avoid, 
is  that  of  the  senses.  If  you  ever  have  the  misfortune  to 
fall  into  it,  you  will  see  nothing  but  illusions  and  idle 
fancies ;  your  eyes  will  be  fascinated,  your  judgment  will 
be  unsettled,  your  will  will  be  corrupted,  and  you  will 
cherish  even  your  illusion,  and  when  you  are  in  a  con- 
dition to  be  conscious  of  it  you  will  not  disown  it.  My 
daughter,  it  is  to  Sophie's  reason  that  I  confide  you,  but  I 
do  not  confide  you  to  the  inclinations  of  her  heart.  As 
long  as  you  are  cool-headed,  remain  your  own  judge ;  but 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  301 

as  soon  as  you  are  in  love,  then  trust  the  care  of  yourself 
to  your  mother. 

"  I  propose  to  you  an  agreement  which  indicates  to 
you  our  esteem  and  reestablishes  the  order  of  nature  be- 
tween us.  Parents  choose  a  husband  for  their  daughter 
and  consult  her  only  as  a  matter  of  form ;  this  is  the 
custom.  But  between  ourselves,  we  shall  do  just  the  con- 
trary— you  shall  choose,  and  we  shall  be  consulted.  Exer- 
cise your  right,  Sophie ;  exercise  it  freely  and  wisely. 
The  husband  who  is  fit  for  you  ought  to  be  your  choice, 
and  not  ours ;  but  it  is  for  us  to  judge  whether  you  are 
not  deceived  as  to  what  is  best,  and  whether,  without 
knowing  it,  you  are  not  doing  something  different  from 
what  you  intend.  Birth,  wealth,  rank,  opinion,  will  not 
enter  at  all  into  our  reasons.  Choose  an  honorable  man, 
whose  person  pleases  you  and  whose  character  is  adapted 
to  you,  and,  whatever  he  may  be  in  other  respects,  we 
shall  accept  him  as  our  son-in-law.  His  wealth  will 
always  be  great  enough  if  he  has  hands,  good  morals,  and 
loves  his  family.  His  rank  will  always  be  sufficiently 
illustrious  if  he  ennobles  it  by  virtue.  Were  the  whole 
world  to  blame  us,  what  matters  it  ?  We  are  not  seeking 
the  approbation  of  the  public,  but  are  satisfied  if  you  are 
happy." 

Readers,  I  do  not  know  what  effect  such  a  conversation 
would  have  on  girls  educated  in  your  way.  As  to  Sophie, 
she  will  not  be  able  to  reply  to  it  in  words ;  shame  and 
emotion  will  not  allow  her  easily  to  express  herself ;  but  I 
am  very  sure  that  it  will  remain  graven  in  her  heart  as 
long  as  she  lives,  and  that  if  we  can  count  on  any  humar 
resolution,  it  is  on  that  which  she  will  make  of  being 
worthily  esteemed  of  her  parents. 

Man  in  a  state  of  nature  is  hardly  a  thinker.  Think- 
ing is  an  art  that  is  learned,  as  other  arts  tire,  and  even 


302 

with  more  difficulty.  In  the  two  sexes  I  know  of  but 
two  classes  that  are  really  distinct — people  who  think  and 
people  who  do  not  think ;  and  this  difference  depends  al- 
most wholly  on  education.  A  man  belonging  to  the  first 
of  these  two  classes  ought  not  to  form  an  alliance  with 
the  second ;  for  the  greatest  charm  of  companionship  fails 
him  when,  having  a  wife,  he  is  reduced  to  thinking  alone. 
Men  who  devote  their  whole  lives  to  working  for  a  living 
have  no  other  idea  than  that  of  their  work  or  their  inter- 
ests, and  their  whole  mind  seems  to  be  at  the  ends  of  their 
fingers.  This  ignorance  is  hurtful  neither  to  probity  nor 
io  manners ;  often  it  'is  serviceable  to  them.  We  often 
compromise  with  duty  by  reflecting  on  it,  and  in  the  end 
we  substitute  talk  for  things.  The  conscience  is  the  clear- 
est of  philosophers,  and  we  need  not  know  Cicero's  Offices 
in  order  to  be  a  man  of  worth ;  and  the  most  honorable 
woman  in  the  world  has  perhaps  the  least  idea  of  what 
honor  is.  But  it  is  none  the  less  true  that  only  a  culti- 
vated mind  can  make  companionship  agreeable ;  and  it 
is  a  sad  thing  for  the  father  of  a  family  who  loves  his 
home  to  be  compelled  to  shut  himself  up  there  alone, 
unable  to  make  himself  understood  by  any  one. 

Moreover,  how  shall  a  woman  who  has  not  the  habit 
of  reflection  educate  her  children?  How  shall  she  dis- 
cover what  is  best  for  them  ?  How  shall  she  incline  them 
to  virtues  which  she  does  not  know,  and  to  attainments 
of  which  she  has  no  idea?  She  will  be  able  only  to 
humor  or  to  threaten  them,  to  make  them  insolent  or 
timid ;  she  will  make  of  them  affected  apes  or  rattle- 
headed rogues,  but  never  children  of  good  minds  or  amia- 
ble dispositions. 

It  is  then  not  meet  for  an  educated  man  to  take  a 
wife  who  is  uneducated,  nor,  consequently,  to  marry  into 
a  class  where  education  is  impossible.  But  I  would  a 


THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMAN.  303 

hundred  times  prefer  a  simple  girl,  rudely  brought  up,  to 
a  girl  of  learning  and  wit  who  should  come  to  establish  in 
my  house  a  literary  tribunal  of  which  she  should  make 
herself  the  president.  A  woman  of  wit  is  the  scourge  of 
her  husband,  her  children,  her  friends,  her  servants,  of 
everybody.  In  the  sublime  elevation  of  her  fine  genius 
she  disdains  all  the  duties  of  woman,  and  always  begins 
by  making  a  man  of  herself,  after  the  example  of  Made- 
moiselle de  1'Enclos.  Away  from  home  she  is  always  the 
subject  of  ridicule,  and  is  very  justly  criticised,  as  one 
never  fails  of  being  the  moment  she  leaves  her  proper 
station  and  enters  one  for  which  she  is  not  adapted.  All 
this  pretense  is  unworthy  of  an  honorable  woman. 
"Were  she  the  possessor  of  real  talents,  her  pretension 
would  abase  them.  Her  dignity  is  in  leading  a  retired 
life ;  her  glory  is  in  the  esteem  of  her  husband ;  her 
pleasures  are  in  the  happiness  of  her  family.  Readers,  I 
appeal  to  you  on  your  honor — which  gives  you  the 
better  opinion  of  a  woman  as  you  enter  her  room,  which 
makes  you  approach  her  with  the  greater  respect :  to  see 
her  occupied  with  the  duties  of  her  sex,  with  her  house- 
hold cares,  the  garments  of  her  children  lying  around 
her ;  or,  to  find  her  writing  verses  on  her  dressing-table, 
surrounded  with  all  sorts  of  pamphlets  and  sheets  of  note- 
paper  in  every  variety  of  color  ?  If  all  the  men  in  the 
world  were  sensible,  every  girl  of  letters  would  remain  un- 
married all  her  life. 

It  is  asked  whether  it  is  good  for  young  men  to  travel, 
and  the  question  is  in  great  dispute.  If  it  were  differently 
stated,  and  it  were  asked  whether  it  is  good  for  men  to 
have  traveled,  perhaps  there  would  not  be  so  much  dis- 
cussion. 

The  abuse  of  books  kills  science.  Thinking  they 
know  "what  they  have  read,  men  think  they  can  dispense 


304 

with  learning  it.  Too  much  reading  serves  only  to  make 
presumptuous  ignoramuses.  Of  all  the  centuries  of  litera- 
ture there  is  not  one  in  which  there  has  been  so  much 
reading  as  in  this,  and  not  one  in  which  men  have  heen 
less  wise  ;  of  all  the  countries  of  Europe,  there  is  not  one 
where  so  many  histories  and  travels  have  been  printed  as 
in  France,  and  not  one  where  less  is  known  of  the  genius 
and  customs  of  other  countries.  So  many  books  make  us 
neglect  the  book  of  the  world ;  or,  if  we  still  read  in  it, 
each  one  confines  himself  to  his  leaf. 

A  Parisian  fancies  he  knows  men,  while  he  knows  only 
Frenchmen.  In  his  city,  always  full  of  strangers,  he 
regards  each  foreigner  as  an  extraordinary  phenomenon 
which  has  no  fellow  in  the  rest  of  the  universe.  We  must 
have  had  a  near  view  of  the  citizens  of  that  great  city,  we 
must  have  lived  with  them,  in  order  to  believe  that  with 
so  much  spirit  they  can  also  be  so  stupid.  The  queer 
thing  about  it  is,  that  each  of  them  has  read,  perhaps  ten 
times,  the  description  of  the  country  one  of  whose  inhabi- 
tants has  filled  him  with  so  much  wonder. 

It  is  too  much  to  have  to  wade  through  at  the  same 
time  the  prejudices  of  authors  and  our  own  in  order  to 
arrive  at  the  truth.  I  have  spent  my  life  in  reading  books 
of  travel,  and  I  have  never  found  two  of  them  which  gave 
me  the  same  idea  of  the  same  people.  On  comparing  the 
little  which  I  was  able  to  observe  with  what  I  had  read,  I 
have  ended  by  abandoning  travelers,  and  by  regretting 
the  time  which  I  had  spent  in  order  to  instruct  myself  in 
their  reading,  thoroughly  convinced  that  in  respect  of 
observations  of  all  sorts  we  must  not  read,  but  see.  This 
would  be  true  even  if  all  travelers  were  sincere,  if  they 
related  only  what  they  have  seen  or  what  they  believe, 
and  if  they  disguised  the  truth  only  by  the  false  colors 
which  it  takes  in  their  eyes.  What  must  it  be  when,  in 


THE  EDUCATION   OF  WOMAN.  305 

addition,  we  have  to  discern  the  truth  through  their  false- 
hoods and  their  bad  faith  ? 

Let  us,  then,  abandon  the  expedient  of  books  which  are 
commended  to  us,  to  those  who  are  made  to  be  contented 
with  them.  Like  the  art  of  Raymond  Lully,*  they  are 
useful  for  teaching  us  to  prate  about  what  we  do  not 
know.  They  are  useful  for  preparing  Platos  of  fifteen  for 
philosophizing  in  clubs,  and  for  instructing  a  company 
on  the  customs  of  Egypt  and  India,  on  the  faith  of  Paul 
Lucas  or  of  Tavernier. 

I  hold  it  for  an  incontestable  maxim,  that  whoever 
has  seen  but  one  people,  instead  of  knowing  men,  knows 
only  those  with  whom  he  has  lived.  Hero,  then,  is  still 
another  way  of  stating  the  same  question  of  travels.  Is 
it  sufficient  for  a  well-educated  man  to  know  only  his 
own  countrymen,  or  is  it  important  for  him  to  know  men 
in  general  ?  There  no  longer  remains  dispute  or  doubt 
on  this  point.  Observe  how  the  solution  of  a  difficult 
question  sometimes  depends  on  the  manner  of  stating  it. 

But,  in  order  to  study  men,  must  we  make  the  tour  of 
the  whole  earth  ?  Must  we  go  to  Japan  to  observe  Euro- 
peans ?  In  order  to  know  the  species,  must  we  know  all 
the  individuals  ?  No ;  there  are  men  who  resemble  one 
another  so  closely  that  it  is  not  worth  the  trouble  to  study 
them  separately.  He  who  has  seen  ten  Frenchmen  has 
seen  them  all.  Although  we  can  not  say  the  same  of  the 
English  and  of  some  other  peoples,  it  is  nevertheless  cer- 
tain that  each  nation  has  its  peculiar  and  specific  char- 
acter, which  is  inferred  by  induction,  not  from  the  obser- 
vation of  a  single  one  of  its  members,  but  of  several.  He 

*  An  allusion  to  the  Ars  Magna  of  Raymond  Lully,  a  sort  of 
verbal  and  syllogistic  mechanism  or  machine  for  forming  proposi- 
tions.— (Souquet). 


who  has  compared  ten  peoples  knows  mankind,  just  as  he 
who  has  seen  ten  Frenchmen  knows  the  French. 

For  purposes  of  instruction  it  is  not  sufficient  to  stroll 
through  countries,  but  we  must  know  how  to  travel.  In 
order  to  observe,  we  must  have  eyes,  and  must  turn  them 
toward  the  object  which  we  wish  to  examine.  There  are 
many  people  whom  travel  instructs  still  less  than  books, 
because  they  are  ignorant  of  the  art  of  thinking ;  whereas 
in  reading,  their  mind  is  at  least  guided  by  the  author, 
while  in  their  travels  they  do  not  know  how  to  see  anything 
for  themselves.  Others  are  not  instructed  because  they 
do  not  wish  to  be  instructed.  Their  object  is  so  different 
that  this  hardly  affects  them.  It  is  very  doubtful  whether 
we  can  see  with  exactness  what  we  are  not  anxious  to 
observe.  Of  all  the  people  in  the  world,  the  Frenchman 
is  he  who  travels  the  most ;  but,  full  of  his  own  ways,  he 
slights  indiscriminately  everything  which  does  not  resem- 
ble them.  There  are  Frenchmen  in  every  corner  of  the 
world.  There  is  no  country  where  we  find  more  people 
who  have  traveled  than  we  find  in  France.  But  notwith- 
standing all  this,  of  all  the  people  of  Europe,  the  one  that 
sees  the  most  of  them  knows  them  the  least.  The  Eng- 
lish also  travel,  but  in  a  different  way ;  and  it  seems  that 
these  two  nations  must  be  different  in  everything.  The 
English  nobility  travel,  the  French  nobility  do  not  travel ; 
the  French  people  travel,  the  English  people  do  not  travel. 
This  difference  seems  to  me  honorable  to  the  latter.  The 
French  have  almost  always  some  personal  interest  in  their 
travels ;  but  the  English  do  not  go  to  seek  their  fortune 
abroad,  unless  it  is  through  commerce,  and  with  full 
pockets.  When  they  travel,  it  is  to  spend  their  money 
abroad,  and  not  to  live  there  on  the  fruits  of  their  indus- 
try ;  they  are  too  proud  to  go  prowling  about  away  from 
home.  This  also  causes  them  to  learn  more  from  for- 


THE  EDUCATION  OF  WOMAN.  307 

eigners  than  the  French  do,  who  have  a  totally  different 
object  in  view.  The  English,  however,  have  their  national 
prejudices  also,  and  even  more  of  them  than  any  one  else ; 
but  these  prejudices  are  due  less  to  ignorance  than  to 
passion.  The  Englishman  has  the  prejudices  of  pride, 
and  the  Frenchman  those  of  vanity. 

There  is  a  great  difference  between  traveling  to  see  the 
country  and  traveling  to  see  the  people.  The  first  object 
is  always  that  of  the  curious,  while  the  other  is  only  inci- 
dental for  them.  It  ought  to  be  the  very  opposite  for  one 
who  wishes  to  philosophize..  The  child  observes  things, 
and  waits  until  he  can  observe  men.  The  man  ought  to 
begin  by  observing  his  fellows,  and  then  he  can  observe 
things,,  if  he  has  the  time. 

It  is  bad  reasoning  to  conclude  that  travels  are  useless 
because  we  travel  in  the  wrong  way.  But,  admitting  the 
utility  of  travels,  does  it  follow  that  they  are  best  for 
everybody  ?  Far  from  it ;  on  the  contrary,  they  are  good 
for  only  a  very  few  people ;  they  are  good  only  for  men 
who  have  sufficient  self-control  to  listen  to  the  lessons  of 
error  without  allowing  themselves  to  go  astray,  and  to  see 
the  example  of  vice  without  permitting  themselves  to  be 
drawn  into  it.  Travel  develops  the  natural  bent  of  char- 
acter, and  finally  makes  a  man  good  or  bad.  Whoever  re- 
turns from  a  tour  of  the  world  is,  on  his  return,  what  he 
will  be  for  the  rest  of  his  life.  Of  those  who  return,  more 
are  bad  than  good,  because  more  of  those  who  start  out 
are  inclined  to  evil  rather  than  good.  Badly  educated 
and  badly  trained  young  men  contract  during  their  trav- 
els all  the  vices  of  the  peoples  whom  they  visit,  but  not 
one  of  the  virtues  with  which  these  vices  are  mingled ; 
but  those  who  are  happily  born,  those  whose  good-nature 
has  been  well  cultivated,  and  who  travel  with  the  real 
purpose  of  becoming  instructed,  all  return  better  ancl 
33 


308 

wiser  than  when  they  started  out.  It  is  thus  that  my 
Emile  shall  travel. 

Whatever  is  done  through  reason  ought  to  have  its 
rules :  Travels,  considered  as  a  part  of  education,  ought 
to  have  theirs.  To  travel  for  the  sake  of  traveling,  is  to 
be  a  wanderer,  a  vagabond ;  to  travel  for  the  sake  of  in- 
struction, is  still  too  vague  an  object,  for  instruction  which 
has  no  determined  end  amounts  to  nothing.  I  would  give 
to  the  young  man  an  obvious  interest  in  being  instructed ; 
and  this  interest,  if  well  chosen,  will  go  to  determine  the 
nature  of  the  instruction.  •  This  is  always  the  method 
which  I  have  attempted  to  put  in  practice. 

Now,  after  having  considered  my  pupil  through  his 
physical  relations  with  other  creatures,  and  through  his 
moral  relations  with  other  men,  it  remains  to  consider 
him  through  his  civil  relations  with  his  fellow-citizens. 
For  this  purpose  he  must  begin  by  studying  the  nature 
of  government  in  general,  the  different  forms  of  govern- 
ment, and,  finally,  the  particular  government  under  which 
he  lives. 


APPENDIX. 


THE  following  quotations  are  taken  from  John  Grand 
Carteret's  J.  J.  Rousseau  juge  par  les  Fran9ais  d'aujour- 
d'hui  (Paris,  1890),  and  they  doubtless  represent  the  mature 
judgments  of  the  most  eminent  French  writers  of  to-day 
respecting  their  enigmatical  countryman.  As  frequently 
happens,  Rousseau's  earliest  and  most  enthusiastic  ad- 
mirers and  disciples  were  not  Frenchmen,  but  Germans 
and  Englishmen,  and  it  was  not  till  within  a  recent  period 
that  this  prophet  found  honor  in  his  own  country. 

For  the  last  one  hundred  years  there  has  not  been  a  single  re- 
form which  we  may  not  see  formulated  in  some  one  of  Rousseau's 
works. 

All  our  current  political  theories  are  contained  in  the  Contrat 
Social. 

All  our  aspirations  after  justice  are  in  the  Discours  sur  L'inegalite. 

All  our  programmes  of  instruction  and  education'  are  found  an- 
nounced in  the  Emile. 

All  attempts  at  religious  renovation  are  traceable  to  the  Profes- 
sion de  Foi  du  Vicaire  Savoyard.  JOHN  GRAND  CARTERET. 

The  Emile  is  the  most  complete  monument  of  Rousseau's  phi- 
losophy. Under  the  pretext  of  education,  he  grasps  at  their  very 
origin  the  principles  of  religion  and  morals,  and  follows  them  in  all 
their  applications  to  society  and  to  human  life.  The  fundamental 
idea  is  the  one  announced  in  his  other  works — that  man  is  naturally 
good,  but  that  he  has  been  depraved  by  society.  The  ordinary  edu- 

(309) 


310  SMILE. 

cation  is  the  instrument  of  this  depravation ;  it  substitutes  our 
prejudices  and  acquired  vices  for  the  original  rectitude  of  nature. 
The  only  good  education  is  a  "  negative  education,"  which  does  not 
produce  the  virtues,  but  prevents  vices ;  which  does  not  teach  the 
truth,  but  preserves  from  error.  All  foreign  influence  being  avoided 
or  paralyzed,  the  child  must  be  allowed  to  grow  up  and  develop  in 
his  natural  liberty ;  isolated  and  handed  over  to  himself,  he  will  in- 
vent in  succession  the  arts  and  sciences,  religion  and  morals ;  he  will 
learn  to  know  the  world  and  will  find  God.  Each  one  must  there- 
fore reproduce  for  his  own  use  the  work  of  the  centuries,  and  redis- 
cover for  himself  whatever  has  a  real  value  in  the  acquisitions  of 
humanity.  This  isolation  from  society  and  its  traditions,  and  from 
the  progress  which  they  summarize,  or  of  the  errors  which  they 
transmit,  is  a  chimera  which,  by  a  flagrant  contradiction,  the  pre- 
ceptor of  Emile  abandons  almost  constantly  in  practice. 

Within  the  compass  of  the  most  artificial  system  that  can  be 
imagined  there  are  developed,  one  after  another,  with  an  equal  elo- 
quence, the  strangest  paradoxes  and  the  truest  observations,  the 
eccentricities  of  the  partisan  and  the  most  sensible  reforms.  We 
everywhere  feel  ourselves  in  the  presence  of  a  thinker  and  writer 
who  propagates  ideas  less  through  their  truth  than  through  senti- 
ment, and  who  addresses  himself  less  to  reason  than  to  passion. 

While  others  devote  themselves  body  and  soul  to  the  ardent  task 
of  breaking  in  pieces  the  religion  of  the  past,  and  destroying  the 
political  and  social  order  which  rests  upon  it,  he  feels  the  need  of 
reconstructing,  in  the  midst  of  the  ruins  about  him,  a  new  society, 
where  man,  regenerated,  may  be  both  better  and  happier.  He  traces 
the  plan  of  this  in  all  its  details  with  as  much  of  imagination  as  of 
logic  and  of  sentiment.  After  the  grand  philosophic  dreamers — the 
Platos,  the  Thomas  Mores,  and  the  Fenelons — he  opens  the  way  and 
gives  the  inspiration  to  all  modern  Utopians.  In  place  of  humanity 
as  it  is,  and  as  it  has  been  created  from  day  to  day  by  the  necessities 
of  history  and  of  life,  he  requires  a  new  man  for  the  society  of  his 
dreams,  and  fashions  one  as  chimerical  as  the  other,  and  both  conform 
to  his  ideal.  He  who  did  not  always  take  into  account  the  duties  of 
ordinary  life,  but  accused  himself  indiscreetly  of  so  many  acts  of 
baseness,  would  fashion  and  subject  by  authority  all  men  to  the 
highest  and  most  formal  perfection. 

To  the  service  of  his  personal  ideas  he  brings  the  magic  of  a  style 
of  a  new  order,  and  an  eloquence  full  of  movement  and  passion, 


APPENDIX.  311 

scholarly  and  forceful,  fanciful  and  personal,  sonorous  and  colored, 
and  of  irresistible  power.  G.  VAPEREAU. 

• 

Rousseau  has  extolled  the  state  of  Nature,  both  for  society  and 
for  the  individual,  and  has  pushed  his  indictment  against  the  vices 
of  civilization  and  the  refinements  of  culture  so  far,  that  it  has  been 
held  that  he  presumed  to  relegate  men  to  the  state  of  communism 
and  barbarism.  This  is  an  error  founded  on  a  superficial  or  partial 
examination  of  his  writings. 

Rousseau  was  not  a  pure  theorist,  proceeding  by  a  +  b  and  sub- 
jecting society  without  pity  to  the  bed  of  Procrustes,  nor  a  system- 
atic philosopher,  obedient  only  to  cold  logic ;  but  was  truly  and 
above  all  else  a  man,  with  a  heart  profoundly  human  and  reflective, 
and  hence  an  impassioned  moralist. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  sophisms,  the  contradictions,  and 
the  faults  of  Jean  Jacques,  it  is  nevertheless  undeniable  that  he 
loved  the  true,  the  beautiful,  and  the  good  with  an  ardent  affection, 
and  that  he  bitterly  repented  whenever  he  allowed  himself  to  be  in- 
duced to  betray  them.  This  is  true  even  of  the  deplorable  abandon- 
ment of  his  children.  It  is  certain  that  he  preached  and  practiced 
the  cult  of  friendship,  country,  and  humanity.  A.  ESCHENAUER. 

Rousseau  was  never  more  than  a  man  of  the  woods  out  of  his 
native  element.  Obstinately  opposed  to  civilized  life,  he  pined  in 
the  midst  of  his  fellows  as  though  in  an  enemy's  country,  and  he 
remained  an  unconquerable  savage.  He  responded  to  friendship  by 
suspicion,  and  to  love  by  defiance ;  "never  saw  fortune  pass  his  door 
without  thinking  of  a  snare,  and  was  always  somber  and,  restless  like 
a  captive  wolf.  . 

No  one  felt  to  the  same  degree  the  worship  of  Nature.  He  who 
scorned  to  cut  his  beard  in  order  to  appear  before  the  King  of  France, 
sprang  from  his  bed  at  dawn  in  order  to  go  to  salute  in  the  forest 
an  early  flower  or  a  spring  bird.  Nature  was  his  grand  inspiration, 
and  consoled  him  for  his  contact  with  men.  Seated  at  the  entrance 
of  a  solitary  valley  he  found  himself  in  his  real  country;  he  reposed 
with  delight  on  grass  untouched  by  human  feet,  forgot  his  bitter 
thoughts,  and  became  good  and  tender-hearted ;  a  ray  of  the  sun 
caused  him  to  shed  gentle  tears,  and  his  genius  was  called  into  life. 

Always  and  everywhere  he  loves  Nature ;  but  his  preferences  are 
well  known ;  his  ardent  and  restless  imagination  prefers  to  monotO' 


312 

nous  pictures  the  sight  of  contrasts  and  convulsions.  "  I  have  need 
of  torrents,  fir-trees,  rocks,  dark  woods,  rugged  paths,  and  precipices 
which  strike  me  with  fear."  JULES  DE  GLOUVET. 

*> 

The  essential  element  in  Rousseau's  genius  was  imagination,  and 
hence  his  striking  originality.  He  might  be  defined  as  an  impas- 
sioned, exalted  imagination,  a  marvelous  subjective  imagination. 

This  imagination  was  due  to  an  extraordinary  sensibility,  to  an 
excessive  impressibility  of  the  sensitive  apparatus  and  nervous 
system,  so  that  there  was  a  continuous  flow  to  his  brain  of  innu- 
merable vivid  and  subtile  emotions  and  of  intense  and  sparkling 
pictures.  Profoundly  affected  by  praise  and  blame,  but  little  sure 
of  himself  by  reason  of  his  febrile  temperament  and  incomplete 
education,  Jean  Jacques  was  at  the  same  time  very  conceited  and 
very  timid. 

He  lacked  the  quality  which,  according  to  himself,  was  essential 
to  a  hero,  namely,  power  of  soul  or  action.  He  therefore  became  a 
philosopher  and  a  novelist.  Weak,  poor,  ignorant,  timid,  scarcely 
possessing  an  exact  sense  of  reality,  having  but  little  direct  hold  on 
the  world,  and  not  being  able  to  satisfy  in  person  his  double  ad- 
vocacy of  love  and  virtue,  he  satisfied  it  through  cerebral  invention, 
through  books. 

Instead  of  furnishing  sensations  and  affections,  his  imagination 
produced  ideas.  Not  being  able  to  adapt  himself  to  people  and  to 
things,  this  thinker  remade  people  and  things  according  to  his  need. 
This  same  man,  so  weak  and  so  powerless  when  it  was  necessary  to 
act,  became  all-powerful  the  moment  he  was  not  trammeled  by 
ponderous  matter.  And  it  is  not  in  the  air  that  he  builds.  He  does 
not  relegate  the  ideal  to  heaven,  but  logically  and  mathematically 
he  builds  upon  the  earth  for  a  living  humanity. 

Having  the  genius  of  imagination,  he  is  naturally  a  man  of  all 
contrasts  as  of  all  harmonies.  He  resolutely  traverses  the  paradox 
in  order  to  arrive  at  the  truth.  Artist  and  philosopher,  he  revolts 
against  art  and  civilization  the  moment  he  sees  that  through  their 
excessive  development,  civilization  and  art,  like  a  parasitic  vegeta- 
tion, mask,  pervert,  and  sterilize  Nature  and  humanity. 

A  revolution  is  the  advent  of  a  new  moral  force.  In  the  eight- 
eenth century  he  created  a  new  faith.  Without  him  the  United 
States  of  America  would  probably  not  be  a  republic.  He  is  the  sou\ 
of  the  French  Revolution.  This  whole  epoch  is  impregnated  with 


APPENDIX.  313 

him.  Mirabeau  interprets  him,  and  Madame  Roland  is  his  Julie  in 
power. 

Rousseau  developed  a  superior  ideal  of  society  by  conciliating 
the  principles  of  authority  and  of  liberty  through  the  association  of 
souls,  wills,  and  interests,  and  a  higher  ideal  of  religion  by  con- 
ciliating reason  and  faith  through  the  culture  of  the  beautiful.  This 
is  his  highest  glory  and  his  best  title  to  the  eternal  gratitude  of 
mankind.  For  divine  right  he  substituted  human  right.  The 
republic  is  no  longer  the  ancient  closed  city,  so  narrow  and  so 
jealous,  founded  on  paternal  right  and  slavery.  He  would  have 
each  one  find  in  it  his  share  of  liberty  and  of  happiness. 

In  order  to  place  his  work  above  all  dispute,  he  rehabilitates  the 
people.  Full  of  a  generous  unselfishness,  has  not  the  people  a 
supreme  degree  of  moral  power,  and  is  not  moral  power  as  necessary 
to  progress  as  intellectual  power!  By  this  superiority  of  the 
humble,  Rousseau  has  justified  the  sovereignty  of  all,  and  has  con- 
secrated universal  suffrage.  Then,  feeling  the  importance  of  the 
education  of  a  people  which  has  become  sovereign,  he  has  shown 
that  no  one  must  be  allowed  the  license  to  corrupt  a  multitude,  as 
Villeroy  corrupted  Louis  XV  when  a  child,  and  that  a  government 
ought,  above  everything  else,  to  be  a  system  of  national  education. 

EMILE  BLEMOXT. 

Rousseau  is  immortal ;  his  name  will  never  perish.  We  may 
imagine  and  even  predict  that  a  day  will  come  when  there  will  no 
longer  be  a  single  man  in  the  world  who  has  opened  a  single  volume 
of  Voltaire ;  but  Rousseau  !  As  long  as  the  French  language  shall 
resound  in  the  world,  his  works  will  remain  an  integral  part  of  the 
soul  of  France. 

The  moment  we  scrutinize  his  system  of  morals  and  come  into 
close  relations  with  it,  it  stands  the  test  no  better  than  his  philoso- 
phy or  his  politics.  The  form  is  a  marvel,  but  the  substance  is  only 
an  incoherent  jumble  of  maxims,  relatively  true,  but  often  false  in 
their  application. 

His  intelligence  was  no  sounder  than  his  morality.  Admirable 
as  an  intellectual  machine,  it  produced  only  false  ideas.  If  the  in- 
telligence, as  the  etymology  of  the  word  indicates,  is  the  faculty  of 
tying  together  accordant  ideas  in  order  to  form  a  clear  and  true 
conception  of  things,  there  is  nothing  more  directly  opposed  to  the 
intelligence  than  the  paradox.  Just  as  the  paradox  is  ingenious  and 


314: 

startling  when  it  is  used  to  enforce  a  misconceived  truth,  so  it  is  in- 
sufferable the  moment  it  is  reduced  to  a  simple  jeu  cT esprit.  Now, 
taking  Rousseau's  works  from  beginning  to  end,  save  descriptions  of 
Nature  and  certain  pictures  of  sentiment,  we  shall  noi^fmd  in  them 
a  line  which  is  anything  else  than  a  paradox,  eternally  reproduced 
under  all  its  forms.  Whatever  can  decry,  humiliate,  disconcert, 
insult,  revolt,  or  excite  hatred  and  disgust,  he  sees  everywhere,  ex- 
hibits it  at  every  word,  and  with  a  warmth  and  enthusiasm  and  an 
eloquence  which  does  not  leave  the  least  doubt  as  to  his  sincerity. 
He  sees  the  wrong  side  of  everything — that  is,  everything  wrong  side 
out;  he  does  not  see  the  right  side,  and  he  is  not  in  a  condition  to 
see  where  it  is.  He  does  not  perceive  that  all  he  has  to  do  is  to  turn 
the  fabric  over.  His  mind  was  deformed  from  infancy,  and  could 
never  be  repaired.  No  ;  he  withdraws  from  the  real  world,  and  with 
the  ink  and  paper  of  the  old  books  with  which  he  has  stuffed  his 
head  he  builds  a  moral  and  philosophic  world,  where  imaginary  men 
play  a  sort  of  fairy  scene  of  ideal  virtue.  These  are  the  models  of 
reason  and  virtue  that  he  presents  to  his  contemporaries ;  and,  to 
crown  all,  it  is  always  in  the  name  of  Nature  and  truth  that  he 
prof  esses  to  speak. 

But  this  is  not  all ;  for  the  more  this  frightful  paradox  is  de- 
veloped and  confirmed,  the  clearer  the  evidence  becomes  of  another 
paradox,  not  less  alarming,  and  one  which  we  are  constrained  to 
acknowledge.  It  is  this :  if  Rousseau,  instead  of  the  imaginary 
ideas  which  disturbed  his  intelligence,  and  instead  of  the  moral  de- 
rangement which  upset  his  heart,  had  possessed  only  a  mind  that 
was  sound  and  strong,  and  a  heart  that  was  pure  and  upright,  there 
would  have  been  one  more  honest  man  in  the  eighteenth  century, 
but  one  less  great  man. 

This  honest  man  would  have  brought  up  his  children,  instead  of 
sending  them  to  the  hospital ;  would  have  made  watches  and  clocks 
of  honest  and  merchantable  quality ;  would  have  had  no  enemies  ; 
would  have  lived  happy,  and  would  have  died  in  peace. 

As  a  great  man  this  is  what  he  has  done  :  He  brought  back  to  a 
respect  for  God  and  virtue  a  society  corrupted  by  irreligion  and 
debauchery;  he  restored  to  the  family  the  feeling  of  that  simple 
fireside  poesy  which  in  the  most  humble  condition  can  make  of  life 
an  endless  felicity ;  he  led  man  back  to  Nature,  making  him  drink 
of  its  sweetness  and  revere  its  power ;  he  revealed  to  him,  in  the 
order  and  magnificence  of  creation,  the  eternal  source  of  all  justice 


APPENDIX.  315 

and  all  truth ;  in  order  to  enjoy  the  grand  spectacles  of  life  and 
Nature,  he  taught  him  reverie  as  a  new  art — for  we  may  boldly  say 
that  before  Rousseau  humanity  did  not  know  how  to  dream.  A 
martyr  to  all  the  exquisite  and  devouring  passions  of  the  human 
soul,  it  is  in  the  midst  of  these  flames  that  he  raised  to  Heaven  those 
cries  of  suffering  or  of  love  which  after  more  than  a  century  we 
can  not  hear  without  a  shudder.  For  his  reward,  he  lived  the  most 
unhappy  of  men,  and  died,  God  knows  how !  Even  his  memory 
has  found  no  repose ;  as  unfortunate  as  his  life,  it  has  been  dragged 
from  pinnacle  to  gutter  and  from  gutter  to  pinnacle,  by  enemies  or 
by  admirers  equally  furious. 

That  which  gives  to  the  work,  as  to  the  life  of  Rousseau,  this 
savage  violence,  this  childish  rage,  this  drunkenness  of  morals  or 
of  reason,  this  blind  zeal  in  error,  this  faith  in  things  of  which 
he  is  ignorant,  is  that  heart  of  the  workman  which  beats  under 
the  coat  of  the  man  of  the  world.  It  is  that  popular  fiber  which 
nothing  can  enervate,  but  which  beats  forever.  This  fact  has  not 
been  sufficiently  noticed,  and  perhaps  has  not  been  mentioned  be- 
fore. 

As  the  miseries  of  this  poor  man  have  now  been  buried  with 
him,  it  is  time  that  death,  which  absolves  even  assassins,  should 
'finally  and  forever  put  an  end  to  that  inquest  which  has  too  long 
held  in  suspense  the  justice  of  posterity.  The  man  is  dead — let  him 
rest  in  peace  ;  but  his  genius  survives,  and  whatever  may  be  said  of 
it  by  some  ingrates  and  by  some  literary  dolts,  this  genius  is  full  of 
life,  and  still  animates  with  its  breath  that  art  of  writing  which  is 
the  first  of  arts.  We  may  boldly  declare  that  it  is  Rousseau  who 
has  created  the  literature  of  the  nineteenth  century.  He  has  cre- 
ated it  by  his  inspiration,  and  has  given  it  the  blood  and  the  nerves 
of  the  modern  man,  and  the  heart  and  the  soul  of  France.  He  has 
also  created  it  by  his  toil.  He  is  the  most  consummate  of  dialecti- 
cians and  the  most  potent  of  the  artists  who  have  explored,  ex- 
tended, and  elevated  the  science  of  thought.  EUGENE  MOUTON. 

In  addition  to  his  own  Confessions,  we  have  a  thousand  grounds 
for  believing  that  his  entire  life  was  disordered  by  a  wretched  state 
of  health,  and  by  moral  crises  often  bordering  on  madness.  If  he 
was  not  a  madman,  he  certainly  had  a  mind  that  was  addicted  to 
hyperbole  and  exaggeration,  and  a  romantic  imagination  delighting 
in  fictions  and  in  delusive  narrations.  Men,  things,  and  circum- 


316  lliMILE. 

stances  developed  beyond  measure  the  original  characteristics  of  his 
mental  personality. 

Would  Jean  Jacques  have  risen  to  the  admirable  heights  which 
he  has  attained  if,  in  order  to  facilitate  his  flight,  he  had  not  ex- 
perienced the  reaction  which  follows  the  phases  of  physical  enfee- 
blement  and  moral  concentration?  Would  he  have  become  our 
Rousseau  if  he  had  been  the  father  of  a  family,  tied  down  to  an 
orderly  and  sedentary  life  by  cares  for  his  children  and  by  the  neces- 
sities of  daily  bread  1  Certainly  not.  But  he  would  probably  have 
remained  an  excellent  engraver. 

Endowed  with  the  analytic  sense,  he  discovered  the  source  of 
public  ills  in  the  bad  education  of  children  by  ignorant  parents, 
and  in  the  bad  education  of  the  people  by  a  nobility  heedless  of  the 
rights  of  man  as  well  as  of  the  grand  duties  of  the  social  compact. 

DR.  J.  ROUSSEL. 


It  is  the  idea  of  the  sovereignty  of  the  people,  proclaimed  by  the 
author  of  the  Contrat  social,  as  the  only  natural  and  legitimate  basis 
of  political  power  and  national  life,  which  made  possible  the  Revolu- 
tion, by  furnishing  it  at  once  with  a  flag,  a  motive  of  action,  an  ideal 
to  realize,  and  an  end  to  attain.  CH.  FAUVETY. 

Rousseau  is  far  from  having  disregarded  the  importance  of 
heredity  in  biology ;  but  he  had  a  profound  intuitive  faith  in  the 
omnipotence  of  a  rational  education  for  the  eradication  of  the 
morbid  germs  of  body  and  mind. 

The  Emile,  burned  at  Paris  and  at  Geneva,  condemned  in  1762 
by  the  faculty  of  theology,  is  a  book  clearly  conceived  and  expressed 
— a  sort  of  memorandum  of  the  griefs  of  childhood,  in  which  Rous- 
seau eloquently  demands  for  the  little  creature  the  right  to  the 
maternal  bosom,  and  banishes  without  return  swaddling-clothes,  lead- 
ing-strings, memorizing,  artificial  prematurity,  and  that  educational 
overpressure  which  Locke  had  just  stigmatized  in  England.  The 
first  in  our  country  to  amplify  the  ideas  of  the  great  English 
philosopher,  Rousseau  dared  to  demand  a  little  more  art  and  less 
science  in  education.  The  Emile  was  the  pedagogic  gospel  which 
preceded  the  doctrine  of  the  Froebels  and  Pestalozzis,  the  declara- 
tion of  rights  of  infancy,  the  real  seed  of  new  ideas  and  hygienic 
progress.  DR.  E.  MONIN. 


APPENDIX.  317 

Of  all  the  great  writers  belonging  to  the  cycle  of  modern  civiliza- 
tion, Rousseau  is,  with  Shakespeare,  the  one  who  has  the  most  loved 
and  the  best  understood  music.  OSCAR  COMETTANT. 

The  literary  fortune  of  Rousseau  is  one  of  the  most  extraor- 
dinary in  history.  No  writer  is  better  informed  than  he ;  none 
has  better  understood  all  the  resources  of  the  French  language,  so 
difficult  to  handle ;  none  has  pursued  with  a  more  delicate  taste  and 
a  more  tenacious  patience  the  perfection  of  form. 

To  the  appeal  to  reason  Rousseau  has  added  an  appeal  to 
passion ;  it  is  with  passion  particularly  that  he  brought  the  old 
regime  to  trial.  Others,  in  fact,  resigned  themselves  to  the  existing 
evil.  They  adapted  themselves  to  that  society  which  nursed  them. 
Rousseau,  on  his  part,  hates  this  society  with  all  his  soul.  He  hates 
it  because  there  is  no  place  in  it  worthy  of  him  ;  he  hates  it  because 
he  is  poor ;  he  hates  it  because  he  is  misunderstood  and  humiliated. 
He  has  known  hunger  and  cold,  physical  and  moral  sufferings.  He 
was  born  susceptible,  proud,  jealous,  envious.  He  carries  within 
him  appetites  and  lusts  which  he  can  not  satisfy ;  and  his  rancor 
makes  an  appeal  not  only  to  justice,  which  condemns  the  present 
state  of  things,  but  also  to  the  lusts  and  appetites  of  all  the  disin- 
herited. He  shows  them  the  banquet  where  others  are  seated,  and 
where,  nevertheless,  their  place  was  marked.  CHARLES  BIGOT. 

According  to  Rousseau,  the  nature  of  man  had  been  poorly  un- 
derstood until  he  appeared ;  the  human  intelligence  had  been 
developed  to  an  extreme  degree ;  by  going  back  to  the  culture  of  the 
body,  humanity  will  find  its  primitive  virtue.  In  reality,  this  mag- 
nificent system  carries  us  back  to  the  innocence  of  brutes ;  the  ideal 
proposed  to  us  is  the  triumph  of  instinct,  life  without  thought,  and 
the  unvarying  toil  of  the  beaver,  the  ant,  and  the  bee.  Since  the 
great  evil  which  the  philosopher  makes  war  against — the  inequality 
of  human  conditions — is  caused  by  the  inequality  of  education,  the 
less  men  think  the  more  nearly  equal  they  will  be.  It  was  once 
believed  that  the  real  sign  of  man's  superiority,  that  which  dis- 
tinguished him  from  animals,  was  the  faculty  of  reflecting.  This 
was  a  mistake ;  the  evil  begins  with  reflection.  The  man  who 
thinks  is  a  depraved  animal;  the  moment  he  reflects  he  is  lost — he 
leaves  the  state  of  Nature,  and  introduces  inequality  into  the  world 
through  the  disproportion  of  intelligences.  The  last  word  of  the 


318 

** 

reform  inaugurated  with  such  pomp  and  so  solemnly  announced,  is 
to  invite  humanity  to  adopt  henceforth  for  a  type  a  well-conditioned 


Shall  Rousseau's  errors  make  us  insensible  to  the  puissant  quali- 
ties of  his  mind,  to  the  force  of  his  language,  to  so  many  noble 
sentiments  which  he  often  expresses  with  eloquence,  and  sometimes 
with  charm  ?  Has  he  not  understood,  better  than  any  one  else  in 
Prance,  the  life  of  Nature  and  the  mysterious  poesy  of  fields  and 
woods  ?  Was  he  not  the  first  to  hear  that  universal  voice  which 
rises  at  certain  hours  from  the  bosom  of  the  earth  and  which  speaks 
of  infinity?  And  the  soul  which  is  moved  so  profoundly  by  the 
spectacle  of  Nature,  and  which  from  tree  or  flower  ascends  with- 
out effort  to  Him  who  has  created  them,  does  it  not  preserve,  not- 
withstanding its  stains,  a  luminous  trace  of  its  divine  origin  ?  It  will 
be  the  eternal  honor  of  Rousseau  that  he  brought  back  in  triumph, 
in  the  midst  of  a  frivolous  and  incredulous  society,  sentiments  which 
worldly  irony  had  banished  from  it.  The  Emile  introduces  us  into 
a  moral  world  which  has  not  yet  the  beauty  of  the  Christian  world, 
but  which  no  longer  has  the  frivolity  of  the  century  ;  it  speaks  to 
us  of  duty  and  order,  while  we  heard  yesterday  only  of  inclination 
and  pleasure.  ED.  MEZIERES. 

Though  Rousseau  was  born  at  Geneva,  he  belongs  to  France  by 
his  life  and  his  death.  Switzerland  was  his  cradle,  but  France  has 
his  tomb.  It  is  in  France  that  he  passed  the  greater  part  of  his  life ; 
it  is  with  us  that  he  suffered  and  struggled,  and  with  us  and  for  us 
that  he  wrote ;  it  was  here  that  he  was  loved  and  hated,  defended 
and  persecuted. 

Rousseau  is  the  ancestor  of  all  of  us  who  participate  in  political 
and  literary  life.  In  the  largest  and  grandest  sense  of  the  term  he 
was  one  of  the  fathers  of  the  Revolution. 

He  saw  clearly  that  in  order  to  build  up  a  new  society  new  men 
were  necessary,  and  so  he  begins  all  his  reforms,  so  to  speak,  ab  ovo. 

In  order  to  have  in  his  state  the  citizens  which  he  fancies,  he 
must  reform  the  whole  education  of  his  time.  He  takes  the  child 
at  birth,  in  order  to  make  of  him  a  man  absolutely  different  from 
what  he  had  been  in  the  past ;  and  he  writes  the  l5mile,  a  powerful 
book,  full  of  ideas,  even  to  repletion,  a  book  prodigiously  fruitful, 
in  which  there  is  a  complete  renewal  of  the  society  which  saw  the 
end  of  the  eighteenth  century. 


APPENDIX.  319 

His  theories  must  not  be  interpreted  literally,  but  must  be  adapt- 
ed to  the  situation,  to  the  time,  and  to  everything  which,  exterior 
to  ourselves,  modifies  and  sometimes  binds  our  nature.  But  it  is 
undeniable  that  Rousseau's  books  have  been  an  inexhaustible  mine 
of  reforms,  and  even  before  the  Revolution  he  exercised  an  astonish- 
ing influence  on  habits  and  manners.  GUSTAVE  RIVET. 

No  one  has  raised  a  louder  voice  than  Rousseau  in  behalf  of  ab- 
stract justice  in  favor  of  the  poor  and  the  oppressed ;  no  one  has 
protested  more  strongly  against  human  inequalities,  even  against 
those  which  result  from  the  nature  of  things.  To  the  definite  but 
stationary  and  conservative  notion  of  social  utility,  so  dear  to  estab- 
lished governments,  he  opposes  the  higher  doctrine,  more  favorable 
to  progress,  but  also  more  equivocal  and  dangerous,  of  social  justice, 
always  ready  to  overthrow  them.  He  was  the  ancestor  and  the  pre- 
cursor of  the  socialists,  so  powerful  in  modern  states. 

M.  BERTHELOT. 

There  is  no  book  in  the  world  so  worthy  of  commendation  as 
tha,t  in  which  there  is  traced  a  plan  of  education.  Read  or  reread 
the  Emile,  observe  all  that  we  are  doing,  the  manner  in  which  we 
train  the  child  and  conduct  his  instruction,  and  you  will  be  con- 
vinced that  our  master  is  Rousseau.  EDGAR  MONTEIL. 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


BOOK  FIRST. 

PAGE 

Whatever  is  natural  is  good,  but  whatever  passes  through  the 
hands  of  men  degenerates 1 

Human  weakness  makes  education  necessary.  All  that  we  do 
not  have  at  our  birth,  but  which  we  need  when  grown,  is 
given  us  by  education.  This  education  is  derived  from 
nature,  from  men,  or  from  things.  We  thus  derive  our 
training  from  three  sorts  of  teachers ;  and  we  are  well  edu- 
cated only  when  there  is  harmony  in  these  three  disciplines. 
The  education  derived  from  men  is  the  only  one  under  our 
control ;  hence  our  success  can  be  only  partial  .  .  .  2,  3 

Education  must  be  natural  in  the  sense  that  it  must  be  based 
on  the  permanent  elements  in  our  constitution  ...  4 

As  things  go,  the  man  and  the  citizen  are  incompatible ;  and 
our  only  course  is  to  form  the  man,  for  manhood  is  the  stuff 
out  of  which  the  citizen  is  made 5 

The  Republic  presents  an  ideal  of  public  education ;  but  such 
an  education  is  impossible  in  France,  because  we  no  longer 
have  a  country ;  .  .  .  6 

In  order  to  determine  what  education  should  be,  we  must  form 
a  conception  of  what  man  is  in  his  natural  state  ...  9 

Education  must  make  men  superior  to  the  accidents  of  life,  and 
must  be  based  on  what  is  permanent  and  universal  .  .  10 

That  man  has  lived  most  who  has  felt  most,  not  he  who  has 
numbered  the  most  years 10 

Society  is  a  system  of  servitude ;  but  education  should  end  in 
freedom 10 

Children  should  be  subjected  to  no  artificial  restraints ;  and 
mothers  should  perform  all  their  natural  duties  .  .  .11 

(821) 


822 

PAG? 

Children  should  be  allowed  to  suffer  the  natural  consequences 
of  their  own  acts,  and  should  be  schooled  to  suffering  .  13 

A  child's  cries  should  invite  us  to  help  him  when  he  is  in  i-eal 
need,  but  should  not  make  us  servile  to  his  whims  .  .  14 

The  child's  natural  teachers  are  his  parents,  and  there  is  no  real 
education  outside  of  the  family ;  but  if  parents  can  not,  or 
will  not,  assume  this  charge,  a  tutor  must  be  found,  and 
his  highest  qualification  is  that  he  is  a  man  .  .  .  .15 

Experience  has  shown  that  I  have  no  fitness  for  teaching ;  but  I 

venture  to  write  this  book  as  a  guide  for  others    .        .        .18 

The  tutor  should  be  young,  and  should  have  had  no  other  pupil,    19 

The  pupil  whose  education  is  described  in  this  book  is  wealthy, 
of  noble  birth,  sound  in  health,  and  an  orphan ;  and  he  and 
his  tutor  must  be  inseparable  companions  .  .  .  20, 21 

Physical  soundness  is  a  postulate,  for  there  can  not  be  a  vigor- 
ous soul  in  a  feeble  body.  Medicine  is  an  evil,  and  doctors 
are  a  pernicious  tribe,  Emile's  only  physicians  shall  be 
temperance  and  labor 21-23 

Real  men  can  not  be  grown  in  cities,  and  so  Emile  must  be 
reared  in  the  country 24 

Baths  are  necessary,  and  should  vary  in  temperature  from  cold 
to  hot.  All  such  artificial  aids  as  swaddling-clothes,  go- 
carts,  etc.,  should  be  discarded 24 

The  only  habit  a  child  should  have  is  to  contract  no  habit 

whatever 26 

Education  should  begin  at  birth,  and  children  should  be  accus- 
tomed to  see  ugly  objects,  masks,  etc.,  to  hear  alarming 
sounds,  and  to  walk  in  dark  places  .  .  .  27, 28 

Children  should  find  resistance  only  in  things,  never  in  human 
wills 29 

When  they  cry  for  an  object,  it  is  better  to  carry  them  to  this 
object  than  to  bring  the  object  to  them  .  .  .  .30 

When  a  child  is  bad,  it  is  because  he  is  weak ;  to  keep  him 
good,  therefore,  add  to  his  power.  When  he  destroys  or 
hurts,  it  is  not  because  he  is  bad,  but  because  his  surplus 

activity  must  be  expended 31 

We  must  supply  the  real  needs  of  children  in  the  way  of  in- 
telligence and  strength,  but  must  grant  nothing  to  caprice,  32, 33 
Children  left  in  freedom  will  cry  less  than  others ;  but  when 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  323 

PAGE 

they  cry  their  tears  should  not  make  them  lord  it  over  us. 
When  they  cry  from  obstinacy,  pay  no  heed  to  their  tears, 
but  try  to  divert  their  attention.  Give  children  no  bells  or 
toys,  but  simple  things,  like  flowers  and  poppy-heads  .  34, 35 
Use  language  that  is  simple  and  phin,  and  be  in  no  haste  to 
make  children  talk.  Country  children  speak  more  distinct- 
ly than  others,  because  they  must  make  a  greater  effort  to 
hear  and  to  be  heard.  Let  children  throw  accent  into  their 
speech,  and  avoid  all  affectation  in  manner  and  language. 
Restrict  them  to  the  use  of  a  few  words,  and  let  these 
words  express  real  thoughts 37-40 

BOOK  SECOND. 

When  children  begin  to  speak  they  cry  less ;  articulate  language 
takes  the  place  of  signs.  Make  their  tears  useless  by  pay- 
ing no  attention  to  them 41 

Make  no  ado  over  slight  injuries,  but  teach  the  child  to  endure 
pain  with  composure.  Allow  £mile  to  profit  by  the  slight 
accidents  that  befall  him,  and  thus  teach  him  caution  and 
prudence 42,  43 

As  a  child's  life  is  uncertain,  do  not  sacrifice  his  present  happi- 
ness for  the  supposed  good  of  a  future  that  may  never 
come 44 

As  suffering  is  the  lot  of  humanity,  allow  fimile  to  suffer  when 
necessary,  and  do  not  protect  him  from  the  accidents  inci- 
dent to  childhood  .  44 

Let  childhood  have  its  own  proper  happiness ;  let  children  be 
children ;  and  lengthen  as  much  as  possible  the  period  of 
innocent  enjoyment 45 

In  human  life  there  is  more  suffering  than  enjoyment;  and  as 
our  unhappiness  depends  on  the  excess  of  our  desires  over 
our  power  to  gratify  them,  labor  for  the  child's  happiness 
by  adding  to  his  power  and  contracting  his  desires  .  .  46 

Keep  the  child  dependent  on  things ;  gratify  only  his  actual 
needs ;  supply  power  when  needed ;  grant  nothing  to  mere 
importunity 47 

Make  the  child  sincere  in  all  he  says  and  does,  and  do  not  allow 
him  to  use  empty  formulas  of  politeness      ....    48 
24 


324:  EMILE. 

PACK 

Avoid  all  excesses  both  of  severity  and  of  indulgence.  Grant 
the  child  reasonable  liberty,  even  at  the  expense  of  bodily 
discomfort  and  suffering,  but  stop  short  of  exposing  life 
and  health 49, 50 

A  man  who  has  not  experienced  suffering  knows  neither  hu- 
man tenderness  nor  the  sweetness  of  commiseration  .  .  50 

The  surest  way  to  make  a  child  miserable  is  to  accustom  him  to 
obtain  whatever  he  desires.  If  his  infancy  is  made  wretched 
in  this  way,  what  will  be  his  condition  as  a  man  ?  .  .50 

As  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  more  helpless  or  more  pitiable 
than  an  infant,  so  there  is  nothing  more  shocking  than  a 
haughty  and  stubborn  child  lording  it  over  his  protectors. 
But  it  is  barbarous  to  add  to  this  helplessness  by  the  exer- 
cise of  our  own  caprices,  as  when  we  deprive  children  of  the 
liberties  which  they  can  so  little  abuse.  Before  tutors 
and  parents  insist  on  their  own  methods,  let  them  learn  the 
method  of  Nature 51 

The  child  should  not  hear  the  terms  duty  and  obligation,  for  he 
can  not  comprehend  their  meaning;  but  as  he  should  be 
obedient  only  to  necessity,  he  can  understand  what  is 
meant  by  force,  impotency,  and  constraint  .  .  .  .52 

As  mere  children  are  incapable  of  reason,  it  is  folly  to  argue 
with  them  ;  they  must  be  governed  by  necessity  .  .  .52 

To  know  good  and  evil,  and  to  understand  the  reason  of  human 
duties,  is  not  the  business  of  a  child.  I  would  as  soon 
have  a  child  be  five  feet  in  height  as  to  have  judgment  at 
the  age  of  ten  . '  . 53,  54 

Jn  order  to  please  you,  children  will  pretend  to  be  governed  by 
reason,  but  this  intimidation  makes  them  weak  and  deceit- 
ful, insincere  and  untruthful.  Employ  force  with  children 
and  reason  with  men,  for  this  is  the  order  of  Nature  .  54,  55 

Never  command  a  child  to  do  anything ;  never  allow  him  even 
to  suspect  that  you  assume  any  authority  over  him  ;  but  let 
him  feel  that  he  is  weak,  and  that  he  is  subject  to  the  law 
of  necessity  which  lies  in  things  and  not  in  human  caprice  ; 
keep  him  from  doing  wrong  by  preventing  the  opportunity 
for  doing  it.  In  this  way  you  will  make  the  child  patient, 
calm,  resigned,  and  peaceable 55.  5C 

Children  have  been  depraved  by  making  emulation,  jealousy, 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  325 


envy,  vanity,  and  covetousness  their  motives  of  conduct. 
All  instruments  have  been  tried  save  one — well-regulated 
liberty .  56,  57 

Give  your  pupil  no  sort  of  verbal  lesson ;  inflict  on  him  no  sort 
of  punishment ;  and  never  make  him  ask  your  pardon.  As 
there  is  no  moral  quality  in  his  actions,  he  can  do  nothing 
wrong 57 

Children  who  live  in  perpetual  constraint  abuse  their  liberty 
when  it  is  once  gained.  Two  city  children  will  do  more 
mischief  in  the  country  than  the  youth  of  a  whole  vil- 
lage , 58 

The  most  important,  the  most  useful,  rule  in  all  education  is 
not  to  gain  time,  but  to  lose  it.  The  most  dangerous 
period  in  human  life  is  the  interval  between  birth  and  the 
age  of  twelve.  The  soul  must  have  leisure  to  perfect  its 
powers  before  it  is  called  on  to  use  them  ....  58 

The  first  education  should  be  purely  negative;  it  should  not 
consist  in  teaching  virtue  and  truth,  but  in  shielding  the 
heart  from  vice  and  the  mind  from  error  .  .  .  .59 

Follow  the  very  reverse  of  the  current  practice  and  you  will  al- 
most always  do  right.  Be  reasonable,  and  do  not  reason  at 
all  with  your  pupils.  Exercise  his  body,  his  senses,  his 
organs,  his  powers,  but  keep  his  soul  lying  fallow  as  long  as 
you  can .  .60 

Take  time  to  discover  the  bent  of  a  child's  mind  before  you  pro- 
ceed to  instruct  him.  Sacrifice  time  which  you  will  regain 
with  interest  at  a  later  period 60,  61 

Another  reason  why  femile  should  be  brought  up  in  the  country 
is  that  his  tutor  will  thus  have  more  complete  control  over 
him,  and  he  will  not  be  corrupted  by  vicious  servants  .  .  62 

Much  more  harm  than  good  is  done  by  your  ceaseless  preach- 
ing, moralizing,  and  pedantry.  Children  are  confused  by 
your  verbiage,  pervert  your  meaning,  and  draw  conclusions 
directly  contrary  to  your  intent 63 

Teachers  should  be  simple,  discreet,  reserved,  and  never  in  haste 
save  to  prevent  others  from  interfering  ....  63 

If  your  child  is  inclined  to  destroy  property,  let  him  learn  wis- 
dom by  suffering  the  natural  consequences  of  his  acts.  If 
he  break  the  windows  of  his  chamber,  do  not  mend  them, 


326 

PAGE 

but.  let  the  cold  wind  blow  on  him  day  and  night.     It  is 
better  that  he  should  take  a  cold  than  be  a  fool    .  63,  64 

Punishment  should  never  be  visited  on  children  simply  as  pun- 
ishment, but  solely  as  the  natural  and  necessary  conse- 
quence of  their  wrong-doing ,  .  65 

I  would  not  exact  the  truth  from  children  for  fear  they  may 
conceal  it ;  nor  would  I  require  them  to  make  promises 
which  they  might  be  tempted  not  to  keep  .  .  .  .65 

Children  are  sometimes  taught  liberality  by  having  them 
give  away  things  which  they  do  not  value,  or  by  holding 
out  the  prospect  of  a  larger  return.  This  is  Locke's  theory, 
and  is  a  sample  of  the  current  manner  of  teaching  the  solid 
virtues ! C6 

As  it  is  difficult  to  foretell  the  genius  of  a  child,  be  in  no  haste 
to  judge  of  him  either  for  good  or  for  evil.  Be  in  no  haste, 
and  allow  Nature  to  have  her  way.  Apparently  we  are  los- 
ing time ;  but  is  it  nothing  for  a  child  to  run  and  jump 
and  play  the  livelong  day  ?  Is  it  nothing  to  be  happy  ?  In 
ancient  Greece  and  Rome  children  and  youth  spent  much  of 
their  time  in  play  ;  were  they  less  useful  as  men  on  this  ac- 
count!   .  .  .  .  67,  68 

The  facility  with  which  children  learn  memory-lessons  is  decep- 
tive. Words  are  learned,  but  the  ideas  they  represent  are 
merely  reflected.  There  can  be  no  real  memory  without 
reason  ;  and  before  the  use  of  reason  the  child  does  not  re- 
ceive ideas,  but  images.  Images  are  but  the  pictures  of  sen- 
sible objects,  while  ideas  are  general  notions  derived  from 
the  comparison  of  objects 69 

As  children  are  incapable  of  judgment,  they  have  no  real  mem- 
ory. They  seem  to  learn  geometry,  but  in  fact  their  mind 
grasps  only  the  lines  and  angles  of  the  figures  used  in  their 
supposed  demonstrations 70 

I  do  not  deny  that  children  have  some  capacity  for  reasoning  ; 
but  this  process  is  limited  to  what  falls  within  the  grasp  of 
the  senses.  All  studies  that  transcend  their  actual  experi- 
ence are  premature 71,  72 

To  display  their  skill,  pedagogues  prefer  subjects  that  involve 
merely  the  verbal  memory  of  their  pupils.  Hence  their 
preference  for  geography,  history,  and  the  languages  .  .  73 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  327 

PAGE 

If  the  study  of  languages  were  but  the  study  of  words,  it  might 
be  suitable  for  children  ;  but  as  each  language  has  its  own 
peculiar  form  of  thought,  and  as  this  form  can  be  acquired 
only  through  the  habits  of  a  lifetime,  I  deny  that  a  child 
can  learn  more  than  one  language.  He  may  indeed  learn 
several  vocabularies — Greek,  Latin,  French,  German,  and 
Italian — but  he  can  speak  but  one  tongue,  that  in  which  he 
was  born 73,  74 

Pedants  have  to  show  off  the  proficiency  of  their  pupils  in  the 
classics  because,  these  being  dead  languages,  there  is  no 
one  to  question  their  success 74,  75 

As  words  are  of  no  value  unless  connected  with  the  ideas  they 
represent,  mere  verbal  teaching,  as  in  geography,  is  fruit- 
less, if  not  pernicious.  In  this  way  a  child  is  likely  to  be- 
lieve that  the  world  is  a  globe  of  pasteboard.  The  same 
vice  runs  through  the  study  of  history;  we  fancy  we  are 
teaching  historical  facts,  while  in  reality  we  are  teaching 
only  empty  words 75 

lie  who  says  these  things  is  neither  a  scholar  nor  a  philosopher, 
but  a  plain  man,  a  friend  to  truth,  and  committed  to  no 
party  or  system.  His  arguments  are  founded  less  on  prin- 
ciples than  on  facts  which  he  has  observed  .  .  .  .76 

Once  at  a  dinner  party  1  heard  a  child  recite  the  history  lesson 
which  had  just  been  taught  him  by  his  tutor.  The  main 
incident  of  the  lesson  was  the  famous  one  where  Alexander 
drank  the  supposed  poison  presented  to  him  by  Philip.  I 
suspected  that  this  child  was  reciting  mere  words,  and,  dur- 
ing our  after-dinner  walk,  I  asked  him  what  he  so  much  ad- 
mired in  Alexander's  conduct,  and  he  replied  that  it  was  the 
courage  he  displayed  in  drinking  the  disagreeable  potion  !  77,  78 

Without  ideas  there  is  no  real  memory,  and  it  is  useless  to  in- 
scribe in  the  heads  of  children  a  list  of  words  that  represent 
nothing.  In  learning  things,  however,  will  they  not  also 
learn  signs !  Then  why  need  they  be  troubled  to  learn 
them  twice  ?  By  learning  mere  words  on  the  authority  of 
teachers,  children  early  fall  into  snares  and  sacrifice  their 
own  judgment 78 

Nature  intended  the  mind  to  be  a  storehouse  not  of  words  but 
of  ideas,  which  may  serve  for  self-conduct  during  the 


328  SMILE. 

MMB 

whole  life.  Without  the  aid  of  books  memory  thus  be- 
comes the  register  of  all  that  the  child  observes ;  and  the 
art  of  the  teacher  consists  both  in  presenting  what  his 
pupil  ought  to  know,  and  in  concealing  from  him  what  he 
should  not  know 79 

Emile  shall  learn  nothing  by  heart,  not  even  fables,  for  fables 
may  instruct  men,  but  not  children ;  because  they  can  not 
understand  them.  Even  if  they  could  be  understood  by 
children  the  case  would  be  still  worse,  for  they  would  in- 
cline them  to  vice  rather  than  to  virtue  .  .  .  80,  81 

In  the  Ant  and  the  Cricket  you  fancy  that  the  poor  cricket 
receives  the  child's  sympathy,  but  his  whole  thought  is 
centered  on  the  miserly  ant,  and  he  learns  to  make  niggard- 
liness a  virtue 81 

Heading  is  the  scourge  of  infancy,  and  at  the  age  of  twelve 
Emile  will  hardly  know  what  a  book  is.  Until  he  learns 
how  reading  may  be  useful  to  him,  books  serve  only  to 
annoy  him 81 

Children  should  learn  nothing  of  which  they'can  not  see  the 
actual  and  present  advantage,  and  it  is  because  children 
have  been  made  to  learn  to  read  against  their  wills  that 
books  have  become  their  torment .82 

Various  schemes  have  been  invented  to  teach  children  how  to 
read,  but  the  surest  has  been  forgotten.  Give  the  child  a 
desire  to  read,  and  you  may  lay  aside  all  other  devices ;  every 
method  will  then  be  a  good  one 82 

Present  interest  is  the  grand  spring  of  action,  the  only  one 
which  with  certainty  leads  to  great  results.  Emile  some- 
times receives  notes  of  invitation  for  a  dinner,  or  a  boat- 
ride,  and  as  he  feels  a  pressing  interest  in  deciphering  them, 
he  soon  learns  how  to  read 82,  83 

We  usually  obtain  very  surely  and  very  quickly  what  we  are  in 
no  haste  to  obtain  ;  and  I  feel  sure  that  Emile  will  know 
how  to  read  and  write  perfectly  before  the  age  of  ten, 
simply  because  I  do  not  care  to  have  him  learn  these  things 
before  he  is  fifteen 83 

If  you  interest  your  pupil  in  things  which  immediately  affect 
him,  rather  than  in  things  which  -are  remote,  you  will 
always  find  him  capable  of  perception,  memory,  and  even 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF   CONTENTS. 


PAOB 

of  reasoning.  This  is  the  order  of  Nature.  But  this 
method  will  stultify  him  if  you  are  always  telling  him 
what  to  do.  If  your  head  is  always  directing  his  arms,  his 
own  head  will  become  useless 83,  84 

The  body  and  the  mind  should  move  in  concert,  and  the  second 
should  direct  the  first.  Your  pupil  should  learn  the  art  of 
self-conduct,  but  if  you  are  forever  prescribing  this  and  that 
you  leave  him  no  opportunity  to  manage  his  own  affairs. 
Assured  of  your  foresight  on  his  account,  what  need  has  he 
of  any  I 84,  85 

fimile  is  early  trained  to  rely  on  himself  as  much  as  possible. 
He  receives  his  lessons  from  Nature  and  not  from  men,  and 
thus  acquires  a  large  experience  at  an  early  age.  His  body 
and  his  mind  are  called  into  exercise  at  the  same  time,  and 
he  thus  comes  into  possession  of  two  things  which  are 
•  thought  to  be  incompatible— strength  of  body  and  strength 
of  mind,  the  reason  of  a  sage  and  the  strength  of  an 
athlete  .  85,  85 

1  know  I  am  preaching  a  difficult  art — that  of  governing  with- 
out precept,  and  of  doing  all  while  doing  nothing.  You 
will  never  succeed  in  making  scholars  if  you  do  not  first 
make  them  rogues.  This  was  the  education  of  the 
Spartans 86 

In  the  ordinary  education  the  teacher  commands  and  fancies 
that  he  governs ;  but,  in  fact,  it  is  the  child  who  governs. 
Your  government  is  a  system  of  treaties,  which  you  propose 
in  your  way  but  which  your  pupil  executes  in  his  own,  86,  87 

Try  an  opposite  course  with  your  pupil.  While  you  really 
govern,  let  him  always  fancy  that  he  is  the  master.  There 
is  no  subjection  so  perfect  as  that  which  preserves  the  ap- 
pearance of  liberty.  Doubtless  your  pupil  ought  to  do 
only  what  he  chooses,  but  he  ought  to  choose  only  what 
you  wish  to  have  him  do 87 

Under  these  conditions  there  may  be  free  indulgence  in  physical 
exercise  without  any  unhappy  effect  on  the  mind  or 
character,  fimile  will  turn  all  his  surroundings  to  profit- 
able account,  while  pleasing  himself  will  do  only  what  he 
ought,  will  mature  his  judgment,  and  will  become  truth- 
ful and  confiding ,  ,  ,  88 


330  tiMILE. 

PAGE 

The  so-called  caprices  of  children  do  not  come  from  Nature, 
but  are  the  results  of  bad  training 88 

This  free  intercourse  with  Nature  gives  the  child  the  only  kind 
of  reason  of  which  he  is  capable.  This  school  of  experience 
is  worth  more  to  the  child  than  the  lessons  learned  in  class- 
rooms   89 

As  man  must  measure  himself  with  his  environment,  his  first 
study  is  a  sort  of  experimental  physics  for  purposes  of  self- 
preservation.  Our  first  teachers  of  philosophy  are  our  feet, 
our  hands,  and  our  eyes,  and  to  substitute  books  for  these 
is  not  to  teach  us  to  reason,  but  to  use  the  reason  of  others,  90 

As  our  limbs,  our  organs,  and  our  senses  are  the  instruments  of 
our  intelligence,  they  must  be  exercised  and  trained  in 
order  that  we  may  learn  to  think.  To  make  the  processes 
of  the  mind  facile  and  sure,  the  body  must  be  kept  strong 
and  robust  .  .  90 

The  child's  dress  should  permit  the  full  movement  of  his  limbs 
and  not  so  close-fitting  as  to  produce  stagnation  of  the 
bodily  humors 90 

Children  should  wear  little  or  no  head-dress  at  any  time  of  the 
year,  and  they  should  be  inured  to  cold  by  wearing  scanty 
clothing.  The  whole  body  should  be  subjected  to  a  process 
of  physical  hardening 91,  92 

Growing  children  require  long  periods  of  sleep.  If  Emile  were 
Nature's  own,  his  sleep  should  be  uninterrupted ;  but  the 
requirements  of  civilized  life  demand  that  he  should  be 
able  to  go  to  bed  late,  to  rise  early,  to  be  abruptly  awak- 
ened, and  even  to  sit  up  all  night 93 

fimile  should  be  accustomed  to  hard  beds,  for  he  can  not  always 
sleep  on  down.  If  he  does  not  sleep  enough,  I  allow  him  to 
foresee  for  the  next  day  a  tedious  forenoon.  If  he  sleeps 
too  late,  I  tell  him  of  some  amusement  he  has  lost  .  .  94 

If  fimile  were  simply  a  child  of  Nature  he  would  not  be  shielded 
from  the  danger  of  small-pox  by  inoculation  ;  but  as  he 
must  live  in  society  he  may  be  inoculated  or  not  as  time, 
place,  and  circumstance  may  determine  .  .  .  .95 

5Tour  pupil  must  be  familiarized  with  peril,  and  for  this  reason 
he  should  learn  to  swim.  By  taking  proper  precautions 
you  may  teach  him  this  art  without  exposing  his  life  ,  .  96 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  331 

PAGE 

We  neither  know  how  to  touch,  to  see,  nor  to  hear,  save  as  we 
have  been  taught.  Therefore,  do  not  exercise  the  child's 
strength  alone,  but  call  into  exercise  all  the  senses  which 
direct  it 97 

Children  should  learn  to  determine  the  required  length  of  levers 
by  trial,  and  to  estimate  the  weight  of  masses  by  sight. 
When  in  a  dark  room  they  may  learn  their  place  by  echoes 
or  by  the  movements  of  the  air  as  it  strikes  their  faces  .  98 

To  accustom  children  to  darkness,  they  should  have  many  sports 
by  night.  Do  not  try  to  dissipate  the  fear  of  darkness  by 
reasoning,  but  take  children  into  dark  places,  and  while 
there  make  them  laugh  and  play 98,  99 

To  accustom  children  to  unforeseen  encounters  at  night,  teach 
them  to  be  cool  and  firm,  and  to  give  blow  for  blow.  The 
result  will  usually  show  that  there  was  no  real  danger  .  100 

To  arm  fimile  against  unforeseen  accidents,  let  him  spend  his 
mornings  in  running  about  everywhere  barefoot.  Let  him 
learn  to  take  risks  by  climbing  trees,  scaling  rocks,  leaping 
over  brooks,  etc 100,  101 

It  is  easy  to  interest  children  in  estimating  and  measuring  dis- 
tances by  appealing  to  some  ready  motive.  We  wish  to 
make  a  swing  between  two  trees :  will  a  rope  twelve  feet 
long  answer  the  purpose! 101 

I  once  succeeded  in  interesting  an  indolent  boy  in  athletic  sports 
by  letting  him  see  two  boys  run  for  a  small  prize.  After 
many  trials  he  caught  the  contagion,  and  became  as  sensible 
as  ordinary  boys.  Incidentally  he  was  taught  to  be  gener- 
ous, and  he  acquired  great  skill  in  estimating  distances,  102-105 

The  intuitions  of  sight  must  be  corrected  and  perfected  by  the 
sense  of  touch.  Between  mere  estimates  by  the  eye  and 
absolute  measurements  by  the  hand  there  should  come 
relative  measurements  by  well-known  objects,  as  trees  or 
houses  ...........  106 

Children  should  learn  to  draw  not  merely  for  the  art  itself,  but 
for  rendering  the  eye  accurate  and  the  hand  deft.  They 
should  have  no  master  but  Nature,  and  no  models  but  ob- 
jects. In  this  way  pupils  will  scrawl  for  a  long  time,  but 
by  this  steady  imitation  of  objects  they  will  come  to  know 
them,  I  will  encourage  my  pupil  by  blundering  as  he  does. 


332  6MILE. 

PAGE 

Were  I  an  Apelles,  I  would  appear  to  be  no  more  than  a 
dauber  .  107-109 

As  we  were  in  need  of  ornaments  for  our  chamber,  I  make  this 
a  motive  for  ISmile  to  produce  good  pictures ;  and  to  en- 
courage him  still  further  I  arrange  his  several  copies  of  the 
same  object  in  a  series,  in  order  to  show  him  his  progress. 
"On  his  best  pictures  I  put  a  very  plain  frame,  and  on  his 
poorest  a  fine  gilt  frame,  thus  teaching  him  that  what  is 
intrinsically  the  best  needs  nothing  else  to  commend  it  .  109 

Geometry  may  be  made  a  study  suitable  for  children  by  treating 
it  as  a  system  of  exact  measurements.  The  properties  of 
figures  are  not  to  be  demonstrated  a  priori,  but  simply 
found  by  careful  observation 110-112 

Children  should  not  be  restricted  to  sports  and  exercises  that 
are  merely  childish ;  but,  in  order  to  draw  out  their  powers. 
we  must  presume  somewhat  on  their  strength  and  endur- 
ance. To  acquire  skill  they  must  incur  some  risk  .  113,  114 

The  physical  training  we  give  children  should  be  for  them  but 
play,  the  facile  and  voluntary  direction  of  the  movements 
which  Nature  demands  of  them  without  the  least  appear- 
ance of  that  constraint  which  turns  them  into  labor  .  .  115 

A  perfect  music  unites  the  articulated,  the  melodious,  and  the 
modulated  or  impassioned  voice,  but  children  are  incapable 
of  this  music.  There  is  but  little  accent  in  their  conversa- 
tion, and  no  modulation  in  their  voice.  Do  not  trust  your 
pupil  to  declaim,  for  he  can  not  express  sentiments  he  has 
never  felt.  Teach  him  to  speak  simply  and  clearly,  to  ar- 
ticulate correctly,  and  to  pronounce  accurately,  but  without 
affectation.  And  in  singing  make*his  voice  accurate,  uni- 
form, flexible,  sonorous,  and  his  ear  sensible  to  measure  and 
harmony,  but  nothing  more 115,  116 

A  child  may  consistently  learn  his  notes  before  learning  his  let- 
ters, because  in  speaking  we  render  our  own  ideas,  while 
in  singing  we  do  hardly  more  than  render  the  ideas  of 
others .116 

Appetite  is  the  surest  guide  to  what  we  ought  to  eat,  the  food 
that  is  most  agreeable  being,  in  general,  the  most  whole- 
some. Children  having  free  access  to  the  pantry  are  not 
likely  to  become  gluttons,  and  there  is  no  reason  why  a  good 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  333 

PAGE 

dinner  may  not  be  a  reward  of  merit.  Accustom  children 
to  common  and  simple  dishes,  and  they  may  eat  as  much  as 
they  will  without  danger  of  indigestion.  Should  the  appe- 
tite become  inordinate,  amusements  may  distract  the  mind 
from  eating 117-120 

By  the  method  of  Nature  our  pupil  has  now  been  led  across  the 
region  of  the  sensations  up  to  the  confines  of  juvenile  reason ; 
but,  before  advancing  to  the  next  period  of  life,  let  us  re- 
view the  stage  already  passed.  We  have  heard  much  of  the 
grown  man ;  let  us  consider  for  a  moment  what  a  grown 
child  is.  The  spectacle  will  be  newer,  but  no  less  interesting.  121 

Why  is  it  that  the  spring-time  fills  us  with  hope  and  delight, 
while  the  aspect  of  autumn  produces  sadness  and  gloom  f 
It  is  because  the  spring  is  to  pass  into  the  glories  of  sum- 
mer, while  autumn  is  to  be  followed  by  the  dreariness  of 
winter.  So  the  aspect  of  childhood  and  youth  is  pleasing, 
because  there  is  the  promise  of  the  riper  and  more  beautiful 
manhood  ;  but  the  contemplation  of  old  age  is  unlovely,  be- 
cause beyond  it  is  decrepitude  and  death.  I  contemplate 
the  child  and  he  pleases  me ;  I  imagine  the  man  and  he 
pleases  me  more ;  his  ardent  blood  seems  to  add  warmth  to 
my  own ;  I  seem  to  live  with  his  life,  and  his  vivacity  makes 
me  young  again 121,  122 

The  clock  strikes,  an  austere  man  summons  him  to  his  books, 
and  what  a  change !  In  a  moment  his  eye  grows  dull,  his 
mirth  ceases,  and  his  heart  is  heavy  with  sighs  which  he 
dares  not  utter 122 

But  come,  my  fitnile,  thou  who  hast  nothing  to  fear  like  this, 
and  by  thy  presence  console  me  for  the  departure  of  this 
unhappy  youth !  He  comes,  and  at  his  approach  1  am  con- 
scious of  feelings  of  joy  which  I  see  that  he  shares  with  me, 
for  it  is  his  friend,  his  comrade,  his  playfellow,  that  he  ap- 
proaches   ' 123 

finaile  is  self-assured  and  content,  and  is  the  picture  of  health 
and  youthful  vigor.  All  his  movements  bespeak  firmness 
and  resolution.  He  is  open  and  frank,  without  insolence  or 
vanity 124 

You  need  not  tremble  for  him  in  the  presence  of  company,  for 
he  will  be  self-possessed,  candid,  manly,  and  without  affec- 


334  EMILE. 


tation.  He  does  not  say  much,  but  he  always  speaks  to  the 
point.  His  knowledge  is  limited,  but  he  is  sure  of  what  he 
knows.  He  has  more  judgment  than  memory,  speaks  but 
one  language,  but  speaks  this  well.  In  his  speech  he  fol- 
lows no  set  formulas,  but  speaks  and  acts  just  as  seems  to 
him  best.  His  moral  ideas  are  limited  to  his  actual  condi- 
tion, and  beyond  these  he  professes  to  know  nothing.  He 
will  do  anything  to  please  you,  but  nothing  because  you 
commend  it.  He  would  ask  information  from  a  king  just 
as  he  would  from  a  servant,  for  in  his  eyes  all  men  are 
equal.  He  is  neither  cringing  nor  imperious,  but  is  mod- 
estly confident  and  sweetly  conscious  of  his  dependence  on 
others.  Refusals  do  not  offend  him,  for  he  sees  in  them  the 
law  of  necessity 125,  126 

When  left  to  himself  in  perfect  liberty  you  will  observe  that  all 
his  acts  are  prompt  and  have  a  definite  purpose.  Before 
seeking  information  from  others  he  will  try  to  obtain  it  for 
himself.  If  he  falls  into  unforeseen  difficulties  he  will  be 
less  disturbed  than  others.  As  he  sees  only  what  is  real  he 
estimates  dangers  only  for  what  they  are  worth.  He  has 
borne  the  yoke  of  necessity  from  his  birth,  and  is  not  dis- 
couraged at  the  inevitable 127 

Whether  at  work  or  at  play  he  is  equally  content.  His  sports 
are  his  occupations,  and  he  sees  no  difference  between  them. 
What  more  charming  sight  than  a  pretty  child  with  bright 
and  merry  eye,  with  pleased  and  placid  mien,  doing  the 
most  serious  things  under  the  guise  of  play,  or  profoundly 
occupied  with  the  most  frivolous  amusements?  .  .  127,  128 

Judged  by  comparison,  Emile  is  superior  to  other  children  in 
dexterity,  in  strength,  in  judgment,  in  reason,  and  in  fore- 
sight. It  is  so  easy  for  him  to  make  everything  bend  to  his 
will  that  all  Nature,  so  to  speak,  is  at  his  command.  He  is 
born  to  guide  and  go,vern,  for  talent  and  experience  serve 
him  instead  of  law  and  authority 128 

Eraile  has  lived  the  life  of  a  child,  and  has  not  bought  his  per- 
fection at  the  cost  of  his  happiness.  Were  he  now  to  die 
we  should  find  consolation  in  the  thought  that  he  has  at 
least  enjoyed  his  childhood,  and  that  we  have  caused  him  to 
lose  nothing  that  Xature  had  given  him  .  ,  .  128,  129 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  335 

PAGE 

The  great  disadvantage  of  this  mode  of  education  is  that  none 
but  the  clear-sighted  can  appreciate  it.  Ordinary  teachers 
think  of  themselves  rather  than  of  their  pupils,  and  so  prize 
in  their  education  only  what  can  be  exhibited.  Emile  has 
nothing  to  exhibit  but  himself,  and  we  can  no  more  see  a 
child  in  a  moment  than  a  man 129 

Too  many  questions  weary  a  child,  and  his  attention  soon  flags. 
It  therefore  requires  good  judgment  in  us  in  order  to  ap- 
preciate the  judgment  of  a  child.  As  the  late  Lord  Hyde 
was  one  day  walking  with  his  son,  a  boy  of  nine  or  ten, 
they  observed  some  boys  who  were  flying  their  kites,  and 
the  father  said  to  his  son,  "  Where  is  the  kite  whose  shadow 
we  see  yonder?"  Without  raising  his  head,  the  child  re- 
„ plied,  "In  the  highway."  And,  in  fact,  added  Lord  Hyde, 
the  highway  was  between  us  and  the  sun  ....  130 

BOOK   THIRD. 

INTELLECTUAL   EDUCATION. 

Man's  weakness  comes  from  the  excess  of  his  desires  over  his 
power  to  gratify  them,  and  he  becomes  relatively  strong 
when  his  growth  in  power  surpasses  the  growth  of  his  needs. 
This  is  the  third  stage  of  childhood,  and  the  one  now  to  be 
discussed 131 

I  shall  be  told  that  a  child  of  this  age  has  less  relative  power 
than  I  ascribe  to  him ;  but  I  am  speaking  of  my  own  pupil, 
and  not  of  those  made-up  creatures  who  faint  at  the  least 
effort.  In  the  country  I  see  boys  of  twelve  or  thirteen  who 
do  the  work  of  men.  This  is  true  also  of  the  mental  power 
which  gives  direction  to  the  bodily  powers  .  .  .  .  132 

This  interval  is  the  most  precious  period  of  life;  it  is  short,  it 
comes  but  once,  and  it  must  be  well  employed.  It  is  the 
period  of  labor,  instruction,  and  study,  and  its  net  acquisi- 
tion must  be  kept  in  store  for  future  use  ....  133 

As  the  human  intelligence  is  limited  it  can  not  know  every- 
thing, and  if  it  could  there  is  much  that  is  not  worth  know- 
ing. Our  pupil  must  be  restricted  to  what  is  really  useful. 
And  from  things  useful  we  must  eliminate  whatever  falls 
outside  the  compass  of  the  child's  intelligence.  This  circle 


336 

PAM 

is  very  small  compared  with  the  whole  domain  of  knowl- 
edge, but  how  immense  with  respect  to  the  mind  of  a 
child! 133,  134 

Curiosity  is  the  grand  spring  of  action  at  this  age — not  that  arti- 
ficial curiosity  which  springs  from  opinion  or  fashion,  but 
that  nobler  passion  which  stimulates  the  child  to  know 
whatever  is  connected  with  his  well-being.  We  must  reject 
from  a  child's  studies  all  those  for  which  he  has  not  a  natu- 
ral taste  .  . 135,  136 

In  our  state  of  feebleness  we  are  wrapped  up  in  what  concerns 
our  physical  well-being;  but  in  our  state  of  potency  we 
reach  but  after  what  is  beyond  us.  In  this  new  period  of 
the  child's  life  the  earth  and  the  sun  are  the  two  objects 
that  enlist  his  attention.  Draw  his  attention  to  these  nat- 
ural phenomena  and  you  will  make  him  curious;  but  to 
nourish  this  curiosity  do  not  satisfy  it.  Emile  is  not  to 
learn  science,  but  to  discover  it 136,  137 

In  teaching  geography,  maps  and  globes  are  useless  machines. 
Take  the  child  where  he  can  see  the  glories  of  the  sun's 
rising  and  setting,  and  feel  the  charms  of  the  morning  and 
the  evening.  Do  not  pour  into  his  ears  your  own  descrip- 
tions of  these  natural  phenomena,  but  allow  him  to  see,  and 
feel,  and  reflect 138,  139 

Educated  in  this  spirit,  your  pupil  will  long  reflect  in  silence 
before  asking  aid  from  others.  If,  after  some  days  of  un- 
rest, he  is  not  able  to  understand  the  earth's  diurnal  revolu- 
tion, and  the  cause  of  day  and  night,  address  to  him  some 
question  which  will  put  him  in  the  way  of  a  correct  solu- 
tion  140,  141 

In  general,  never  substitute  the  sign  for  the  thing  itself  save 
when  it  is  impossible  to  show  the  thing.  The  machines  for 
teaching  astronomical  facts  are  misleading,  for  they  distort 
actual  proportions,  and  absorb  the  attention  which  would 
otherwise  be  applied  to  the  real  objects  of  study  .  .  .  141 

It  is  a  disputed  question  whether  we  should  resort  to  analysis 
or  to  synthesis  in  the  study  of  the  sciences.  We  may  em- 
ploy either  or  both.  In  geography,  we  may  start  from  the 
child's  home  and  go  out  toward  the  entire  globe  by  suc- 
cessive additions,  or  we  may  begin  with  the  artificial  globe 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTEXTS.  337 

PAGE 

and  meet  the  child  as  he  is  coming  toward  us.  This  unex- 
pected meeting  will  be  an  agreeable  surprise  .  .  .  142 

Let  the  child  construct  maps  of  these  observations,  first  very 
simple,  but  gradually  elaborated  as  he  finds  new  facts  to 
register 143 

The  spirit  of  my  system  is  not  to  teach  the  child  many  things, 
but  to  give  him  a  few  clear  ideas  on  essential  topics,  and, 
above  all,  to  shield  his  mind  from  error.  This  peaceful 
epoch  of  the  intelligence  is  so  short  that  we  must  improve 
it  to  the  uttermost.  We  can  not  teach  him  the  sciences, 
but  we  can  inspire  him  with  a  taste  for  them,  and  this  is 
the  economic  principle  of  all  sound  education  .  .  143,  144 

Emile  must  do  nothing  against  his  will.  It  is  necessary,  in- 
deed, that  he  learn  to  give  consecutive  attention  to  the 
same  thing,  but  his  motive  should  be  pleasure,  and  never 
constraint.  If  he  asks  questions,  let  your  replies  merely 
stimulate  his  curiosity ;  and  if  you  discover  that  he  asks 
questions  merely  to  pass  the  time  or  to  annoy  you,  pay  no 
attention  to  them 144,  145 

Emile  shall  not  learn  the  ready-made  science  of  the  philosophers, 
but  shall  proceed  from  fact  to  fact  by  the  method  of  dis- 
covery. For  example,  to  teach  him  the  elements  of  elec- 
tricity, I  take  him  to  a  fair  where  a  juggler  performs  amus- 
ing tricks  with  an  artificial  duck  floating  in  a  basin  of 
water.  Emile  experiences  various  chagrins,  but  in  the  end 
he  learns  in  the  school  of  experience  what  I  wished  to 
teach  him 145-150 

Following  the  same  general  plan,  Emile  will  learn  the  effects  of 
temperature  on  solids  and  liquids,  will  discover  the  prin- 
ciple of  the  thermometer,  the  barometer,  the  siphon,  etc., 
and  will  finally  comprehend  the  laws  of  statics  and  hydro- 
statics. He  will  not  resort  to  ready-made  instruments,  but 
will  gradually  invent  and  perfect  simple  apparatus  to  ver- 
ify his  own  discoveries 150,  152 

Our  clearest  and  most  valuable  knowledge  is  that  which  we 
gain  from  our  own  independent  observations,  and  anything 
which  relieves  us  of  necessary  effort  does  us  a  positive  in- 
jury. The  artificial  instruments  we  use  disqualify  us  for 
using  our  own  senses  and  organs  .  .  .  .  .  152,  153 


338 


PAGE 

In  order  that  the  child's  knowledge  may  be  firmly  held  and 
comprehended,  it  must  gradually  be  reduced  to  scientific 
form  on  general  principles.  Always  begin  with  the  sim- 
plest and  most  obvious  phenomena,  and  merge  them  into 
higher  and  higher  generalizations .  .  153 

As  the  child  advances  in  intelligence,  and  learns  what  is  best 
and  what  is  -not  best  for  him,  it  is  time  for  him  to  distin- 
guish between  work  and  play,  and  to  exercise  foresight 
with  respect  to  all  that  involves  his  real  good  .  .  .  154 

Do  not  expect  your  pupil  to  work  toward  some  supposed  good 
which  you  vaguely  set  before  him,  but  some  good  which  is 
present  and  tangible.  A  child  can  not  have  a  man's  fore- 
sight, and  a  man's  knowledge  will  not  suffice  for  him  .  155,  156 

The  word  useful  is  the  key  to  the  whole  situation.  What  is 
this  good  for  ?  should  be  the  question  ever  on  the  child's 
tongue.  He  will  thus  ask  questions  as  Socrates  did.  It  is 
of  little  importance  whether  he  learns  little  or  much,  pro- 
vided he  sees  the  clear  utility  of  it  .  .  .  .  156,  15? 

Avoid  discursive  explanations,  for  young  people  will  run  away 
from  them.  Do  not  expatiate  on  the  use  of  knowing  how 
to  find  the  points  of  the  compass,  but  take  your  pupil  into 
some  forest,  allow  him  to  become  lost,  and  then  by  sugges- 
tions teach  him  how  to  find  his  way  home  .  .  .  157-160 

Never  direct  the  child's  attention  to  anything  he  can  not  see. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen  we  see  the  happiness  of  a  wise  man 
just  as  at  thirty  we  see  the  glory  of  paradise.  While  think- 
ing of  what  would  be  useful  to  your  pupil  at  another  age, 
speak  to  him  only  of  that  whose  utility  he  sees  at  present. 
Moreover,  never  compare  him  with  other  children,  lest  you 
excite  him  to  jealousy ;  but  teach  him  to  excel  himself,  and 
thus  make  of  him  his  own  rival 161 

Books  merely  teach  us  to  talk  of  what  we  do  not  know.  In- 
stead of  aiding  the  memory,  they  teach  us  to  do  without  it. 
Still  there  is  one  book  which  shall  constitute  Smile's  whole 
library — a  book  which  invents  a  situation  where  all  the  nat- 
ural needs  of  man  are  exhibited,  and  where  the  means  of 
providing  for  these  needs  are  successively  developed ;  this 
wonderful  book  is  Robinson  Crusoe  ....  162-164 

The  division  of  labor,  which  is  a  product  of  civilization,  makes 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE   OF  CONTENTS.  339 

PAGE 

men  mutually  dependent;  and  when  the  time  comes  to 
teach  Emile  this  mutual  dependence,  teach  it  in  its  indus- 
trial and  not  in  its  moral  aspect.  Go  with  him  from  shop 
to  shop,  become  a  laborer  with  him ;  for  in  this  way  you 
can  teach  him  more  in  an  hour  than  he  can  learn  from  a  day 
of  explanations 165 

To  shield  your  pupil  from  the  false  opinions  of  men,  and  to 
guard  him  against  the  snares  set  by  evil  men,  show  him 
things  as  they  really  are,  and  thus  teach  him  how  to  distin- 
guish the  true  from  the  false,  the  good  from  the  bad  .  .  166 

fimile  knows  little  or  nothing  of  the  relations  of  man  to  man, 
but  he  knows  his  own  place  and  keeps  it.  He  is  not  yet 
bound  by  social  laws,  but  by  the  laws  of  necessity.  He  esti- 
mates the  value  of  men  and  things  solely  as  they  affect  his 
happiness  or  his  interests.  In  his  eyes  iron  is  more  valuable 
than  gold,  and  a  pastry-cook  a  more  important  person  than 
an  academician 167 

The  industries  which  minister  to  the  most  pressing  wants  of 
mankind  are  the  most  honorable ;  and  of  all  the  arts,  agri- 
culture is  the  first  and  the  most  respectable.  I  would  place 
the  forge  in  the  second  rank,  carpentry  in  the  third,  and  so 
on ;  and  a  child  who  has  not  been  perverted  by  prejudice  will 
estimate  them  in  the  same  way 168 

In  the  practice  of  these  arts  the  manual  dexterity  acquired  is 
less  important  than  the  mental  and  moral  qualities  which 
are  induced,  such  as  curiosity,  invention,  and  foresight. 
The  child's  tastes  may  not  be  yours ;  he  should  be  wholly 
absorbed  in  his  occupation,  and  you  should  be  absorbed  in 
him 169 

You  may  explain  to  your  pupil  the  obvious  nature  and  need  of 
money  as  a  standard  of  values  and  a  medium  of  exchange ; 
but  do  not  confuse  him  by  going  further  than  this,  as  in  at- 
tempting to  explain  the  moral  effects  of  this  institution.  169,  170 

In  this  way  we  may  turn  the  curiosity  of  our  pupil  in  many  di- 
rections without  leaving  the  domain  of  his  real  and  material 
relations.  At  a  dinner-party  how  many  things  there  are 
to  interest  and  instruct  a  thoughtful  child — the  conversa- 
tion, the  table-service,  and  the  viands  coming  from  so  many 

sources! 170-172 

25 


340  tiMILE. 

PACK 

It  will  now  be  easy  to  teach  Emile  the  necessity  and  value  of 
mutual  exchanges  in  instruments  and  products,  and  so  of 
the  distribution  of  men  into  societies  and  trades.  This  is 
the  basis  of  our  civilization.  On  this  principle  no  one  can 
remain  an  isolated  being 172,  173 

fimile  thus  learns  some  notions  of  men's  social  relations  even 
before  he  becomes  a  member  of  society.  Each  man  has  the 
right  to  live,  and  he  must  derive  some  assistance  from 
organized  society ;  but  he  must  also  make  some  return  to 
society  for  the  benefit  he  has  received  ....  173,  174 

Emile's-  education  shall  be  directed  according  to  what  is  uni- 
versal in  human  life.  Generally  speaking,  all  men  have  the 
same  wants,  the  same  destiny,  and  the  same  powers  of  body 
and  mind,  and  men  should  be  educated  so  as  to  live  under 
all  states  of  fortune.  But  by  training  a  child  to  live  in  one 
special  state  he  becomes  unfitted  to  live  in  any  other. 
Human  society  is  in  a  state  of  perpetual  flux,  and  no  one 
can  be  assured  of  a  permanent  future.  The  solidarity  of 
society  must  be  respected,  and  each  man  owes  to  it  a  debt 
which  must  be  discharged  in  person  ....  175-177 

Of  all  human  conditions  the  most  independent  of  fortune  is  that 
of  the  artisan,  and  so  Emile  shall  learn  a  trade.  A  trade  does 
not  degrade  him  who  follows  it,  but  raises  him  to  the  rank 
of  manhood.  A  trade  is  to  be  learned  not  so  much  for  it- 
self, as  for  overcoming  the  prejudices  that  despise  it.  In 
order  to  put  fortune  in  subjection  to  you,  begin  by  making 
yourself  independent  of  it 177,  178 

It  is  not  an  accomplishment  that  I  require,  but  a  trade,  a  purely 
mechanic  art,  where  the  hand  toils  rather  than  the  head, 
which  does  not  lead  to  fortune,  but  which  can  dispense  with 
it.  The  professions  are  capricious,  and  may  land  you  in 
distress,  but  with  a  trade  you  are  always  sure  of  an  honor- 
able maintenance 178,  179 

Emile  must  choose  an  honorable  calling,  but  let  us  recollect  that 
there  is  no  honor  without  utility.  I  would  rather  have  him 
a  cobbler  than  a  poet ;  nor  do  I  want  him  to  be  a  musician, 
a  comedian,  or  an  author.  In  making  his  choice  Emile 
must  not  be  governed  by  passing  whims,  but  by  real 
aptitudes.  In  fact,  his  trade  is  already  half  learned,  for 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  341 

PAGE 

be  has  acquired  much  manual  dexterity.  All  that  is 
needed  is  to  devote  enough  time  to  any  one  of  the  manual 
arts  to  make  himself  dexterous  in  it.  All  things  considered, 
the  trade  that  I  would  have  Emile  learn  is  that  of  cabinet- 
maker. It  is  cleanly,  is  useful,  may  be  practiced  at  home, 
keeps  the  body  in  exercise,  and  requires  skill  and  inge- 
nuity    180-183 

When  Emile  learns  his  trade  I  must  learn  it  with  him.  We 
must  both  be  apprentices,  not  in  sport,  but  in  earnest.  The 
Czar  Peter  worked  at  the  bench ;  why  may  not  we  f  .  183,  184 

In  this  apprenticeship  body  and  mind  must  work  in  concert, 
and  my  pupil  must  insensibly  form  a  taste  for  reflection 
and  meditation.  The  great  secret  of  education  is  to  make 
the  exercises  of  the  body  and  the  mind  always  serve  as  a 
recreation  for  each  other 184 

We  have  thus  far  trained  the  body  and  the  senses,  the  mind 
and  the  judgment  of  our  pupil,  and  have  connected  with 
the  use  of  his  limbs  the  use  of  his  faculties ;  and  nothing 
more  is  left  for  us,  in  order  to  make  a  complete  man,  than 
to  make  of  him  a  being  who  lives  and  feels — that  is,  to  per- 
fect the  reason  through  the  feelings.  But  before  entering 
on  this  new  field  let  us  see  just  what  point  we  have 
reached 184,  185 

At  first  our  pupil  had  only  sensations — all  he  did  was  to  feel ; 
but  now  he  judges.  The  mind  is  characterized  by  its 
manner  of  forming  ideas.  A  strong  mind  is  one  that  forms 
its  ideas  on  real  relations  ;  the  one  that  is  satisfied  with  ap- 
parent relations  is  a  superficial  mind ;  that  which  sees 
relations  just  as  they  are  is  an  accurate  mind ;  that  which 
estimates  their  value  imperfectly  is  an  unsound  mind ;  he 
who  invents  relations  purely  imaginary  is  a  lunatic ;  while 
he  who  does  not  compare  at  all  is  an  imbecile  .  .  .  185 

Nature  never  deceives  us,  but  inferences  from  our  sensations  are 
sometimes  false.  As  all  our  errors  come  from  our  judg- 
ment, it  is  clear  that  if  we  never  needed  to  judge  we  should 
have  no  need  to  learn ;  and  since  the  more  men  know  the 
more  they  are  deceived,  the  only  means  of  shunning  error 
is  ignorance.  The  man  of  Nature  is  profoundly  indifferent 
to  everything  except  a  small  number  of  immediate  rela- 


342  SMILE. 


tions  which  things  have  with  him.  The  philosopher  has 
great  curiosity,  but  the  savage  none.  Emile  is  not  a  savage 
to  be  banished  to  a  desert,  but  a  savage  made  to  live  in 
cities.  He  is  cautious  in  his  replies  to  my  questions,  and 
takes  time  to  examine  them.  Neither  of  us  is  in  a  fret  to 
know  the  truth  of  things,  but  only  not  to  fall  into  error. 
Our  familiar  phrases  are  :  I  do  not  know  ;  Let  us  consider. 
Emile  will  not  know  what  a  microscope  or  a  telescope  is  ; 
but  before  using  them  I  will  have  him  invent  them.  This 
is  the  spirit  of  my  whole  method.  I  have  not  taught  him 
many  things,  but  have  shown  him  the  route  to  learning, 
easy,  in  truth,  but  long,  boundless,  and  slow  to  traverse,  185-188 

Compelled  to  learn  for  himself,  he  uses  his  own  reason  and  not 
that  of  others.  Prom  this  continual  exercise  there  must 
result  a  vigor  of  mind  similar  to  that  which  is  given  the 
body  by  labor  and  exercise.  Another  advantage  is  that 
we  advance  only  in  proportion  to  our  strength  .  .  .  188 

Emile  has  little  knowledge,  but  what  he  has  is  really  his  own  ; 
he  knows  nothing  by  halves.  He  has  a  mind  that  is  univer- 
sal, not  through  its  knowledge  but  through  its  facility  of 
acquiring  it.  My  purpose  is  not  at  all  to  give  him  knowl- 
edge, but  to  teach  him  how  to  acquire  it  when  necessary,  188,  189 

Emile  has  only  natural  and  purely  physical  knowledge.  He 
does  not  know  even  the  name  of  history,  nor  what  metaphys- 
ics and  ethics  are.  He  knows  the  essential  relations  of  man 
to  things,  but  nothing  of  the  moral  relations  of  man  to 
man 189,  190 

Emile  is  industrious,  temperate,  patient,  firm,  and  full  of  cour- 
age. He  is  sensible  to  few  evils,  and  knows  how  to  suffer 
with  constancy  because  he  has  not  learned  to  contend  against 
destiny.  In  a  word,  Emile  has  every  virtue  which  is  re- 
lated to  himself.  He  has  no  faults,  or  only  those  which  are 
inevitable  to  man.  He  has  a  sound  body,  agile  limbs,  a  just 
and  unprejudiced  mind,  and  a  heart  that  is  free  and  with- 
out passions 190,  191 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  343 

BOOK  FOURTH. 

MORAL  AND   RELIGIOUS  EDUCATION. 

PAGE 

Our  passage  over  the  earth  is  so  swift,  that  life  is  almost  gone 
before  we  know  how  to  live.  We  have  two  births,  one  for 
the  species  and  the  other  for  the  sex.  This  second  period 
is  foretold  by  the  rise  of  the  passions ;  this  is  our  second 
birth,  and  it  is  here  that  we  really  begin  to  live.  Ordinary 
education  ends  at  this  period,  but  it  is  here  that  ours  ought 
to  begin 192,  193 

The  wish  to  destroy  the  passions  is  vain  and  impious,  for  they 
are  the  instruments  of  our  conservation,  and  the  source  of 
our  passions  is  the  love  of  self.  This  passion  is  always  good, 
for  we  must  love  ourselves  in  order  to  preserve  ourselves. 
The  first  feeling  of  a  child  is  to  love  himself,  and  his  next 
to  love  those  who  come  near  him  as  his  protectors.  A  child 
is  thus  naturally  inclined  to  benevolence ;  but  as  his  rela- 
tions to  others  become  extended  he  comes  to  have  a  feeling 
of  his  duties  and  preferences,  and  then  he  becomes  jealous 
and  imperious — love  of  self,  a  benevolent  passion,  passes  into 
self-love,  a  malevolent  passion 193-195 

Up  to  this  point  Emile's  study  has  been  his  relations  with  things, 
but  henceforth  his  occupation  must  be  the  study  of  his  re- 
lations with  men.  As  soon  as  he  has  need  of  a  companion 
he  is  no  longer  an  isolated  being,  and  his  first  passion  calls 
him  into  relations  with  his  species 196 

The  instructions  of  Nature  are  slow  and  tardy,  while  those  of 
men  are  almost  always  premature,  the  imagination  giving  a 
precocious  activity  to  the  senses ;  but  as  the  age  at  which 
man  becomes  conscious  of  sex  depends  on  education  as 
much  as  on  Nature,  it  follows  that  this  peiiod  maybe  hast- 
ened or  retarded  by  the  manner  of  the  child's  training;  and 
the  longer  this  critical  period  can  be  delayed,  the  greater 
will  be  the  amount  of  physical  vigor  and  power  .  .  196,  197 

So  far  as  possible,  we  should  prevent  the  rise  of  the  child's 
curiosity ;  and  when  he  asks  questions  which  we  are  not 
compelled  to  answer,  it  is  better  to  say  nothing  than  to  say 
what  is  false ;  but  if  we  decide  to  reply,  let  it  be  done  with 
the  greatest  simplicity,  without  mystery  and  without  hesi- 


344  EMILE. 


tation.  Absolute  ignorance  of  certain  things  is  no  doubt  b«st 
for  children ;  but  they  should  learn  at  an  early  hour  what 
can  not  always  be  concealed  from  them.  Do  not  affect  too 
great  refinement  in  your  language,  but  speak  plainly,  simply, 
and  directly.  The  way  to  preserve  the  innocence  of  chil- 
dren is  not  to  give  them  lessons  in  modesty,  but  to  surround 
them  with  those  who  love  and  respect  innocency.  Children 
are  often  corrupted  by  the  books  they  read,  and  by  vile  do- 
mestics and  nurses 196-200 

To  subject  to  order  and  control  the  rising  passions,  prolong  the 
time  during  which  they  are  developed,  so  that  they  may 
gradually  adjust  themselves  without  danger.  To  feel  our 
true  relations  both  to  the  species  and  the  individual,  and 
to  order  all  the  affections  of  the  soul  according  to  these  rela- 
tions— this  is  the  sum  of  human  wisdom  in  the  use  of  the 
passions 200,  201 

In  order  to  arouse  the  nascent  sensibility  and  turn  the  character 
toward  benevolence  and  goodness,  do  not  excite  the  young 
man's  pride,  vanity,  and  envy  by  showing  him  the  exterior 
of  grand  society;  but  show  him  what  men  really  are  by 
nature — that  they  are  neither  kings  nor  millionaires,  but  that 
they  are  born  naked  and  poor,  are  subject  to  chagrins,  evils, 
and  sorrows,  and,  finally,  that  all  are  condemned  to  death  .  201 

If  your  children  are  not  capable  of  this  humane  culture  you  are 
to  blame  for  it — you  have  either  taught  them  not  to  feel  or 
have  caused  them  to  counterfeit  feeling ;  but  my  £mile  has 
neither  felt  nor  feigned,  for,  having  reflected  little  on  sen- 
tient beings,  he  will  be  late  in  knowing  what  it  is  to  suffer 
and  die.  But  complaints  and  cries  will  soon  begin  to 
agitate  his  feelings,  and  the  convulsions  of  a  dying  animal 
will  give  him  untold  agony  before  he  knows  the  source  of 
these  new  emotions.  Thus  arises  pity,  the  first  related  feel- 
ing that  touches  the  human  heart.  We  suffer  only  as  much 
as  we  judge  the  animal  suffers.  In  order  to  nourish  this 
nascent  sensibility  and  to  guide  it  in  its  natural  course,  we 
must  offer  to  the  young  man  objects  on  which  he  may  exert 
the  expansive  force  of  his  feelings,  and  which  will  give  ex- 
tension to  his  sympathies.  Do  not  let  him  look  down  on 
the  afflictions  of  the  unfortunate  with  feelings  of  superior- 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  345 


ity,  but  teach  him  that  their  lot  may  one  day  be  his  own ; 
teach  him  to  count  neither  on  birth,  nor  on  health,  nor  on 
riches .  203,  204 

With  pupils  of  this  age  the  skillful  teacher  may  become  an  ob- 
server and  a  philosopher  in  the  art  of  exploring  the  recesses 
of  the  human  heart  and  in  devising  means  to  mold  the 
human  character.  Possibly  my  pupil  may  be  less  agreeable 
because  he  has  not  learned  to  imitate  conventional  man- 
ners, but  he  will  certainly  be  more  affectionate,  and  I  can 
not  think  that  his  regard  for  others  will  render  him  the 
less  agreeable  on  this  account 205 

When  this  critical  age  comes,  offer  to  the  young  not  sights  that 
excite  and  influence  their  passions,  but  those  which  check 
and  soothe;  take  them  from  large  cities  to  their  early 
homes,  where  the  simplicity  of  country  life  allows  the  pas- 
sions to  develop  less  rapidly;  carefully  select  their  com- 
pany, their  occupations,  and  their  pleasures ;  let  them  know 
the  lot  of  man  and  the  miseries  of  their  fellows,  but  do  not 
let  them  be  seen  too  often ;  be  sparing  of  words ;  make  a 
choice  of  times,  places,  and  persons ;  give  all  your  lessons 
by  example,  and  you  may  be  sure  of  their  effect  .  .  205,  206 

Teachers  complain  that  the  ardor  of  this  age  makes  the  young 
ungovernable,  and  I  can  see  why  this  may  be  true.  When 
this  ardor  has  been  allowed  to  expend  itself  through  the 
senses,  can  it  be  expected  that  the  sermons  of  a  pedant  will 
efface  from  the  mind  the  images  of  pleasure  that  have  been 
impressed  on  it  ?  Doubtless,  by  being  compliant  we  may 
maintain  a  show  of  authority ;  but  no  good  purpose  is 
served  by  a  supremacy  gained  by  fomenting  the  passions  of 
your  pupil 207 

But  this  ardor  may  give  you  a  hold  on  the  human  heart,  and  it 
is  through  it  that  education  is  to  be  perfected.  The  young 
man's  affections  are  the  reins  by  which  he  is  to  be  guided ; 
they  are  the  bonds  which  unite  him  to  his  species.  In  be- 
coming capable  of  attachment  he  becomes  sensible  of  the 
attachment  of  others,  and  you  have  so  many  chains  which 
you  may  throw  around  his  heart  without  his  perceiving 
them.  If  you  have  not  destroyed  the  feeling  of  gratitude 
by  your  own  fault,  you  will  have  o,  new  hold  on  your  pupil 


346  EMILE. 

MM 

as  he  begins  to  see  the  value  of  your  services ;  but  beware 
of  extolling  them,  lest  they  become  insupportable  to  him. 
In  order  to  make  him  docile,  leave  him  in  complete  lib- 
erty, and  conceal  yourself  ill  order  that  he  may  look  for 
you 208,  209 

We  now  enter  on  the  moral  order,  and  come  to  the  second  stage 
of  manly  culture.  I  would  have  Emile  feel  that  goodness 
and  justice  are  not  mere  abstract  terms,  but  real  affections 
of  the  soul  enlightened  by  reason.  So  far  he  has  regarded 
only  himself,  but  now  that  he  comes  to  throw  his  first  look 
over  his  fellows  this  comparison  excites  a  desire  to  surpass 
them,  and  thus  gives  rise  to  the  selfish  passions.  It  now 
becomes  important  to  determine  to  what  place  he  shall  as- 
pire among  men,  and  so  it  becomes  necessary  to  show  him 
what  man  really  is.  Society  must  be  studied  through  men, 
and  men  through  society  .  .  .  .  .  210,  211 

Men  must  not  be  shown  through  their  masks,  but  must  be 
painted  just  as  they  are,  to  the  end  that  the  young  may  not 
hate  them,  but  pity  them  and  avoid  resembling  them.  Let 
him  know  that  man  is  naturally  good,  but  that  society 
depraves  him ;  let  him  be  induced  to  esteem  the  individual, 
but  to  despise  the  masses ;  let  him  see  that  nearly  all  men 
wear  the  same  mask,  but  let  him  also  know  that  there  are 
faces  more  beautiful  than  the  mask  which  covers  them,  211,  212 

This  method  of  study  has  the  disadvantage  of  tending  to  make 
the  heart  cynical  and  unfeeling,  and  a  corrective  must  be 
found  in  the  study  of  history ;  for  in  history  we  see  men 
simply  as  spectators,  without  interest  or  passion — as  their 
judge,  and  not  as  their  accomplice  or  their  accuser.  But  it 
is  a  vice  of  history  to  show  us  men  by  their  bad  qualities 
rather  than  by  their  good  ;  to  occupy  itself  with  wars  and 
revolutions,  and  to  portray  peoples  in  a  state  of  decadence 
rather  than  during  periods  of  growth.  The  worst  histo- 
rians are  those  who  judge.  But,  wisely  selected,  a  course  in 
historical  reading  is  a  course  in  practical  philosophy,  better 
than  all  the  vain  speculations  of  the  schools  .  .  212-217 

But  self-love  is  a  dangerous  instrument,  and  often  wounds  the 
hand  that  uses  it.  In  considering  his  place  in  human  so- 
ciety £nrile  will  be  tempted  to  give  all  the  credit  to  his  own 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  347 

PAGE 

wisdom,  and  if  he  were  to  remain  in  this  condition  we 
should  have  done  him  but  little  good ;  but  there  is  no  vice, 
save  vanity,  which  may  not  be  cured  m  any  man  who  is  not  • 
a  fool.  Do  not  use  arguments  to  prove  to  your  pupil  that 
he  is  a  man  subject  to  the  same  weaknesses  as  other  men, 
but  make  him  feel  this,  if  need  be,  by  exposing  him  to  the 
arts  of  knaves  and  sharpers 217,  218 

Teachers  should  not  assume  a  false  dignity  and  play  the  sage  by 
affecting  a  vast  superiority  over  their  pupils.  On  the  con- 
trary, they  should  exalt  the  purposes  and  ambitions  of  the 
young,  and  if  they  can  not  ascend  to  you,  descend  to  them. 
This  does  not  mean  that  teachers  should  appear  on  an  equal- 
ity with  their  pupils  in  respect  of  intelligence  and  learn- 
ing, for  this  would  be  to  sacrifice  their  confidence  and 
respect 219,  220 

If  your  pupil  falls  into  mistakes  do  not  reproach  him  with  them, 
for  this  would  make  his  self-love  rebel.  The  lesson  which 
revolts  does  not  profit.  Give  him,  rather,  your  consolation, 
and  you  will  correct  him  by  seeming  to  pity  him .  .  220,  221 

The  time  of  faults  is  the  time  for  fables.  By  censuring  the 
wrong-doer  under  an  unknown  mask  we  instruct  without 
offending  him.  The  moral  of  a  fable  should  not  be  an- 
nounced, but  the  pupil  should  be  left  to  discover  it  for 
himself;  for  if  he  does  not  understand  the  fable  without  this 
explanation,  he  will  never  understand  it  at  all.  Again, 
fables  should  be  arranged  in  a  more  rational  order  than  in 
the  usual  collections 221-223 

It  is  not  through  speculative  studies  that  the  young  can  be  pre- 
pared for  complete  living,  fimile  has  been  taught  to  live 
by  himself  and  to  earn  his  daily  bread,  but  this  is  not 
enough ;  he  must  know  how  to  get  on  with  men,  and  must 
know  the  instruments  that  give  him  a  hold  on  them.  He 
must  be  taught  to  be  beneficent.  It  is  by  doing  good  that 
we  learn  to  be  good.  Interest  your  pupil  in  all  the  good 
deeds  that  are  within  his  reach.  Let  the  cause  of  the  poor 
always  be  his  own.  To  this  end  he  need  not  meddle  in  pub- 
lic affairs,  but  will  do  only  what  he  knows  to  be  useful  and 
good.  He  will  never  seek  a  quarrel,  but  if  he  is  insulted  he 
will  have  the  resolution  to  defend  his  honor.  If  be  sees 


34:8  EMILE. 

• 

PAGE 

discord  prevailing  among  his  companions  he  will  try  to 
reconcile  them 226-228 

It  can  not  be  repeated  too  often  that  all  lessons  given  to 
young  men  should  be  in  actions  rather  than  in  words.  Let 
them  learn  nothing  in  books  that  can  be  taught  them  by 
experience.  I  am  convinced  that  by  putting  beneficence  in 
action,  and  drawing  from  our  good  or  bad  success  reflec- 
tions on  their  causes,  there  is  little  useful  knowledge  which 
can  not  be  cultivated  in  the  mind  of  a  young  man  with  re- 
spect to  the  usages  of  life.  The  true  principles  of  the  just, 
the  true  models  of  the  beautiful,  all  the  moral  relations  of 
existence,  and  all  the  ideas  of  order,  are  engraved  in  his 
understanding ;  and,  without  having  experienced  the  hu- 
man passions,  he  knows  their  illusions.  While  thus  trying 
to  form  the  man  of  Nature,  it  is  not  proposed  to  make  a 
savage  of  him  and  banish  him  to  the  woods,  but  to  fit  him 
to  live  in  the  social  vortex  without  being  seduced  by  the 
passions  or  the  opinions  of  men 228,  229 

Locke  would  have  us  begin  with  the  study  of  the  mind,  and 
pass  thence  to  the  study  of  the  body ;  but  this  is  the  method 
of  superstition,  prejudice,  and  error,  and  not  that  of  reason, 
nor  of  Nature.  We  must  have  studied  the  body  for  a  long 
time  in  order  to  form  a  correct  notion  of  the  mind  .  229,  23(? 

So  far  nothing  has  been  said  to  fimile  on  the  subject  of.  religion. 
At  the  age  of  fifteen  he  did  not  know  that  he  had  a  soul, 
and  perhaps  at  eighteen  it  is  not  yet  time  for  him  to  learn 
it.  The  truth  should  not  be  announced  to  those  who  are 
not  able  to  understand  it,  for  this  is  equivalent  to  substi- 
tuting error  for  it.  It  is  much  better  to  have  no  ideas  of 
God,  than  to  have  ideas  which  are  low,  fanciful,  or  un- 
worthy. If  children  form  such  notions  they  retain  them 
for  life.  Emile  is  so  accustomed  to  refuse  his  attention  to 
whatever  is  beyond  his  reach,  and  is  so  indifferent  to  what 
he  does  not  understand,  that  this  reserve  in  speaking  to  him 
of  religion  is  attended  with  no  risk.  While  Nature  has 
been  forming  the  physical  man,  we  have  been  trying  to 
form  the  moral  man ;  but  while  the  body  has  become 
strong  and  robust,  the  soul  is  still  languishing  and  feeble. 
Our  aim  has  been  to  hold  the  senses  in  check,  and  to  stimu- 


ANALYTICAL   TABLE   OF   CONTENTS.  34.9 

rum 

late  the  intellect.  It  is  easy  to  rise  from  the  study  of  Na- 
ture to  the  search  for  its  Author.  When  we  have  reached 
this  point  what  new  holds  we  have  gained  on  our 
pupil! 230-233 

The  critical  moment  finally  comes,  as  it  must,  and  your  former 
manner  of  treating  your  pupil  must  be  abandoned.  He  is 
still  your  disciple,  but  no  longer  your  pupil.  He  is  a  man, 
and  must  be  treated  as  such.  Up  to  this  time  he  has  been 
held  in  check  by  his  ignorance,  but  he  must  now  be  con- 
trolled by  his  intelligence.  So  far  he  has  remained  in  his 
primitive  innocence,  but  now  he  must  be  instructed  in  the 
mysteries  that  have  so  long  been  concealed  from  him. 
Young  men  who  are  wise  on  these  subjects  have  not  gained 
their  knowledge  with  impunity.  So  long  as  my  pupil  con- 
tinues to  keep  his  heart  open  to  me  I  have  nothing  to  fear. 
His  chief  perils  are  reading,  solitude,  idleness,  and  an 
aimless  life ;  but  by  keeping  his  body  at  painful  labor  I 
arrest  the  activity  of  his  imagination,  and  thus  avoid  these 
dangers.  As  his  trade  has  become  a  routine,  this  will  not 
answer  my  purpose,  and  nothing  better  can  be  devised  than 
hunting 233-237 

Never  employ  dry  reasoning  with  the  young,  but  cause  the  lan- 
guage of  the  intellect  to  pass  through  the  heart  in  order 
that  it  may  be  understood.  Cold  arguments  may  deter- 
mine our  opinions  but  not  our  actions.  So  I  will  not  be 
tedious  and  diffuse  by  the  use  of  lifeless  maxims,  but  my 
speech  will  abound  in  emotion.  I  will  make  his  young 
heart  burn  with  feelings  of  friendship,  generosity,  and  grati- 
tude, and  will  press  him  to  my  heart  while  shedding  tears 
of  tenderness ;  and  if  I  am  discreet  in  my  use  of  this  method, 
I  do  not  doubt  for  an  instant  that  my  Emile  will  come  of 
himself  to  the  point  where  I  wish  to  lead  him.  How  nar- 
row must  one  be  to  see  in  the  nascent  desires  of  a  young 
man  only  an  obstacle  to  the  lessons  of  reason  !  We  have 
no  hold  on  the  passions  save  through  the  passions  .  237-240 

jjhnile  now  knows  men  in  general,  and  it  remains  for  him  to 
know  them  as  individuals.  It  is  time  to  show  him  the  ex- 
terior of  that  grand  stage  whose  concealed  workings  he  al- 
ready knows.  As  there  is  a  proper  age  for  studying  the 


350  EMILE. 

PAGE 

sciences,  there  is  also  one  for  properly  apprehending  the  use 
of  the  world.  Give  me  a  child  of  twelve  years  who  knows 
nothing  at  all,  and  at  fifteen  I  will  guarantee  to  make  him 
as  wise  as  he  whom  you  have  instructed  from  infancy.  So, 
also,  introduce  a  young  man  of  twenty  into  the  world,  and, 
if  well  trained,  he  will  in  one  year  be  more  amiable  and 
better  polished  than  he  whom  you  have  reared  there  from 
infancy.  However,  we  must  not  wait  too  long,  for  it  is 
hard  to  escape  from  manners  hardened  into  habit  .  240-242 

fimile  must  now  have  a  companion,  and  he  must  be  enamored 
of  her  before  he  knows  the  object  of  his  affections.  The 
picture  I  draw  of  her  may  be  imaginary,  but  it  is  enough 
that  it  disgusts  him  with  those  who  might  tempt  him,  and 
that  he  everywhere  finds  comparisons  which  make  him  pre- 
fer his  dreams  to  the  real  objects  which  excite  his  atten- 
tion. For  what  is  real  love  itself  if  not  a  dream,  a  fiction, 
an  illusion  I  I  will  not  deceive  him  by  pretending  that  the 
object  depicted  really  exists;  but  if  he  is  pleased  with 
the  picture,  he  will  soon  wish  for  the  original  .  .  242,  243 

iEmile  is  now  sufficiently  trained  10  be  docile.  I  grant  him,  it 
is  true,  the  appearance  of  independence,  but  he  was  never 
in  more  complete  subjection,  for  his  obedience  is  the  result 
of  his  will.  Into  whatever  society  he  may  be  introduced, 
his  first  appearance  will  be  simple  and  without  display. 
His  manner  of  presenting  himself  is  neither  modest  nor 
vain,  but  natural  and  true.  He  speaks  little,  because  he 
does  not  care  to  occupy  the  attention  of  others.  Although, 
on  entering  society,  he  is  in  absolute  ignorance  of  its  usages, 
he  is  not  on  this  account  timid  and  nervous,  but  calm  and 
cool.  Doubtless  Emile  will  not  be  like  other  people,  and 
may  God  preserve  him  from  ever  being  so  !  He  will  never 
be  feted  in  society  as  a  popular  man,  but  people  will  love 
him  without  knowing  why.  He  is  a  man  of  good  sense, 
and  wishes  to  be  nothing  else 244-247 

ifimile  is  not  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  others,  but  he  would 
have  this  good  opinion  founded  on  the  good  he  does, 
rather  than  on  the  mere  opinions  of  others,  and  he  will  love 
those  most  who  resemble  him  most.  As  he  studies  men 
through  their  manners  in  society,  he  must  needs  philoso- 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OP  CONTENTS. 


PACK 

phize  on  the  principles  of  taste,  and  this  is  his  proper  study 
during  this  period.  At  Paris  the  general  taste  is  bad,  but 
it  is  here  that  one  should  come  if  he  has  a  spark  of  genius 
to  cultivate.  This  is  also  the  period  for  literary  criticism, 
and  by  the  reading  of  good  books  fimile  shall  be  made  sen- 
sible to  the  beauties  of  eloquence  and  diction.  In  order 
that  he  may  learn  simplicity  of  taste,  he  must  study  the 
writings  of  the  ancients  ;  and  he  shall  go  to  the  theatre  in 
order  that  he  may  acquire  a  taste  for  poetry.  My  object  in 
teaching  him  to  feel  and  love  the  beautiful  in  all  its  forms, 
is  to  fix  on  it  his  affections  and  tastes,  so  that  his  natural 
appetites  may  not  be  corrupted  by  lower  pleasures  .  247-252 

Leaving  Emile  for  the  moment,  I  will  seek  in  myself  a  more 
obvious  and  familiar  example  of  the  tastes  and  manners 
which  I  wish  to  commend  to  the  reader  :  were  I  rich,  I 
would  use  my  wealth  to  purchase  leisure  and  liberty;  and 
as  health  is  not  possible  without  temperance,  I  would  be 
temperate  for  sensual  reasons.  I  would  keep  as  near  to 
Nature  as  possible,  and  always  take  her  for  a  model.  I 
would  draw  from  each  season  whatever  is  agreeable  in  it. 
I  would  have  but  few  servants  ;  my  house  should  be  small 
and  its  furniture  simple.  I  would  be  plain  in  my  dress  and 
living,  and  men  of  all  conditions  should  feel  at  home  with 
me.  I  would  cultivate  rustic  enjoyments,  and  find  happi- 
ness in  modes  of  life  unaffected  by  human  opinion  .  253-258 

But  it  is  now  time  to  look  for  Sophie  in  earnest  ;  and  as  we  are 
looking  for  love,  happiness,  and  innocence,  we  must  bid 
adieu  to  Paris  ......  ...  258 

BOOK  FIFTH. 

THE   EDUCATION   OF   WOMEN. 

It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone,  and,  as  fimile  is  now  a  man, 
he  must  have  a  companion  ;  and  as  fimile  is  a  man,  Sophie, 
his  companion,  must  be  a  woman  —  that  is,  she  should  have 
whatever  is  befitting  the  constitution  of  her  species  and  of 
her  sex  ...........  259 

The  only  thing  in  common  between  man  and  woman  is  the 
species,  and  they  differ  only  in  respect  of  sex  ;  and  it  is  one 


352 


of  the  marvels  of  Nature  that  she  could  constitute  two  be- 
ings so  similar  and  yet  so  different.  With  respect  to  what 
they  have  in  common  they  are  equal,  and  in  so  far  as  they  are 
different  they  can  not  be  compared.  In  the  union  of  the 
sexes  each  contributes  equally  toward  the  common  end,  but 
not  in  the  same  way.  One  must  be  active  and  strong,  the 
other  passive  and  weak  ;  one  must  have  power  and  will, 
while  it  suffices  that  the  other  have  little  power  of  resist- 
ance. Hence  it  follows  that  woman  is  especially  constituted 
to  please  man  ........  259,  260 

Plato,  in  his  Republic,  by  enjoining  the  same  duties  on  woman 
as  on  man,  subverts  the  sweetest  feelings  of  Nature  and 
sacrifices  them  to  an  artificial  feeling  which  can  not  exist 
without  them.  Now,  the  moment  it  is  admitted  that  man 
and  woman  are  not  and  ought  not  to  be  constituted  in  the 
same  way,  it  follows  that  they  ought  not  to  be  educated  in 
the  same  way  ........  260,  2C1 

Nature  should  be  followed  in  all  that  characterizes  sex.  To  cul- 
tivate in  women  the  qualities  of  men,  and  to  neglect  those 
which  are  properly  their  own,  is  obviously  to  work  to  their 
detriment.  Does  it  follow  that  woman  ought  to  be  brought 
up  in  complete  ignorance,  and  restricted  solely  to  the  duties 
of  the  household  t  No,  doubtless.  On  the  contrary,  Na- 
ture would  have  her  think,  and  judge,  and  love,  and  know, 
and  cultivate  her  mind  as  she  does  her  form.  She  ought  to 
learn  multitudes  of  things,  but  only  those  which  it  befits 
her  to  know.  The  whole  education  of  women  ought  to  be 
relative  to  men  —  to  please  them,  to  be  useful  to  them,  to 
make  them  happy  ........  260-263 

In  both  sexes  the  first  culture  ought  to  be  that  of  the  body. 
Women  need  sufficient  strength  to  do  with  grace  whatever 
they  have  to  do,  and  men  need  sufficient  cleverness  to  do 
with  facility  whatever  they  have  to  do.  Women  should  be 
robust,  in  order  that  the  men  who  shall  be  born  of  them 
may  be  robust  also.  Delicacy  is  not  languor,  and  one  need 
not  be  sickly  in  order  to  please  .....  263-265 

Children  of  the  two  sexes  have  many  amusements  in  common, 
but  boys  prefer  movement  and  noise,  and  girls  what  appeals 
to  sight  and  serves  to  please.  For  the  present  the  little 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  353 

MM 

girl  is  absorbed  in  her  doll,  but  she  waits  the  moment  when 
she  shall  be  her  own  doll.  This  is  a  decided  primitive  taste, 
and  in  order  to  regulate  it  we  have  only  to  follow  it.  The 
adornment  of  her  doll  will  naturally  lead  to  sewing,  em- 
broidery, lace-work,  designing,  etc 265,  266 

In  respect  of  good  sense,  the  two  sexes  are  equally  endowed, 
and  trifling  studies  should  be  banished  from  the  education 
of  both.  There  is  no  reason  why  a  girl  should  learn  to 
read  and  write  at  an  early  age.  There  are  very  few  who 
will  not  abuse  this  fatal  science.  Girls  should  be  obedient 
and  industrious,  and  must  be  trained  to  restraint  in  order 
that  it  may  cost  them  nothing.  Maternal  affection  should 
attach  them  to  their  duties,  and  make  necessary  constraint 
easy.  Their  disposition  to  go  to  extremes  should  be  toned 
down,  and  their  natural  inconstancy  checked  .  .  267-269 

The  first  and  most  important  quality  of  woman  is  gentleness,  and 
she  ought  early  to  learn  to  suffer  every  injustice,  and  to  en- 
dure the  wrongs  of  a  husband  without  complaint.  But  in 
order  to  make  a  young  woman  docile,  it  is  not  necessary  to 
make  her  unhappy,  and  she  should  be  indulged  in  all  inno- 
cent amusements,  such  as  dancing  and  singing.  Her  best 
teachers  may  often  be  her  father,  mother,  brother,  sister, 
friend ;  but  when  formal  lessons  are  needed  her  teachers 
may  be  of  either  sex  270-273 

Women  speak  sooner,  more  easily,  and  more  agreeably  than  men. 
A  man  says  what  he  knows,  and  a  woman  what  will  please, 
and  so  one  needs  knowledge  and  the  other  taste.  In  the  use 
of  speech  girls  should  be  trained  to  be  discreet  and  pleasing,  274 

It  is  even  more  difficult  for  girls  than  for  boys  to  form  a  true 
idea  of  religion.  Women  have  great  skill  in  finding  the 
means  for  reaching  a  known  end,  but  very  little  in  finding 
the  end  itself.  For  this  reason  every  daughter  should  have 
the  religion  of  her  mother,  and  every  wife  that  of  her 
husband.  Naturally,  women  are  either  free-thinkers  or 
devotees,  and  their  religion  should  be  regulated  by  au- 
thority   275,276 

Religious  duties  should  be  made  pleasing  to  girls,  and  never  a 
burden,  and  the  mother's  example  is  the  best  guide.  In 
explaining  the  articles  of  faith,  do  not  proceed  by  question 


PAOJ 

and  answer,  but  by  direct  instruction.  A  proper  catechism 
for  children  is  yet  to  be  written.  It  will  have  but  little 
resemblance  to  those  in  use.  The  questions  should  be  so 
framed  that  the  child  can  formulate  his  own  answers. 
Until  the  age  of  reason  comes,  that  which  is  right  or 
wrong  for  the  young  is  what  they  are  commanded  to  do  or 
not  to  do  by  those  who  surround  them.  Hence  the  im- 
portance of  a  right  choice  of  associates  .  .  .  277,  276 

The  inner  moral  sense  should  co-operate  with  public  opinion  in 
the  education  of  women,  but  a  counterpoise  to  each  of 
these  forces  should  be  found  in  the  cultivation  of  the 
reason.  Between  a  slavery  to  her  domestic  duties  and  the 
usurpation  of  man's  prerogatives  there  is  a  middle  ground 
where  woman  may  cultivate  her  reason,  and  thus  protect 
herself  against  the  prejudices  of  society  .  .  .  278-280 

Women  should  make  a  profound  study  of  the  men  who  sur- 
round them,  and  should  learn  to  govern  them  by  knowing 
what  will  please  men.  Woman  has  more  spirit  and  man 
more  genius ;  woman  observes  and  man  reasons.  Counseled 
by  their  mothers,  girls  should  enter  society  in  order  to  dis- 
cover its  illusions,  and  thus  be  protected  from  them.  Con- 
vents are  schools  of  coquetry,  and  in  Protestant  countries 
there  is  a  higher  type  of  womanhood  than  in  Catholic 
countries.  In  order  to  love  the  peaceful  life  of  the  home 
it  must  be  known,  and  to  this  end  domestic  education  is 
recommended.  Mothers  are  warned  against  bringing  their 
daughters  to  Paris  to  learn  the  manners  of  the  gay 
capital  ' 281-285 

Dry  moral  lectures  and  gloomy  lessons  disgust  the  young.  In 
order  to  teach  young  women  to  be  discreet,  create  in  them 
a  strong  interest  in  being  so  ;  and  this  interest  should  not 
be  placed  in  a  distant  future,  but  in  the  present  moment 
and  in  current  events.  Encourage  virtue  by  an  appeal  to 
reason,  and  make  girls  feel  that  the  power  of  their  sex  does 
not  depend  alone  on  their  own  good  conduct  and  morals, 
but  also  on  those  of  men — that  they  can  have  but  little 
hold  on  vile  and  low  natures 286,  287 

Sophie's  disposition,  qualities,  appearance,  tastes,  dress,  talents, 
accomplishments,  and  faults  described ....  287-298 


ANALYTICAL  TABLE  OP  CONTENTS.  355 

PAGE 

Admonitions  to  Sophie  by  her  father 298-301 

Thoughtful  men  should  not  many  women  incapable  of  think- 
ing, but  a  simple  girl,  rudely  brought  up,  is  preferable  to  a 
wife  of  learning  and  wit,  who  would  make  of  her  house  a 

literary  bureau 301-308 

The  reading  of  books  is  not  a  substitute  for  travel,  but  it  is  not 
necessary  to  know  all  the  individuals  in  order  to  know  the 
species.  We  must  know  how  to  travel  in  order  to  profit  by 
it  But  travels  are  good  for  only  a  few  people — only  for 
those  who  have  sufficient  self-control  to  listen  to  the  lessons 
of  error  without  allowing  themselves  to  go  astray  .  304-308 


2ft 


SYLLABUS  OF  ROUSSEAU'S  &V1ILE. 


Pages  i  to  40. 

1.  FROM  what  three  sources  is  education  derived? 

2.  In  what  sense  does  nature  consist  in  habits? 

3.  What  constitutes  the  "training  for  manhood  "  that 

Rousseau  deems  the  sole  education  ? 

4.  What  general  principle  underlies  the  right  care  of 

the  infant  ? 

5.  Has  the  young  man  as  teacher  more  sympathy  with 

childhood  and  youth  than  the  older  teacher  ? 

6.  Can  Rousseau's  treatment  of  his  ideal  child  directly 

guide  one  in  the  care  and  training  of  children  in 
real  life  ? 

7.  What  is  meant  by  the  assertion  that  the  child  should 

be  allowed  to  contract  no  habit  ? 

8.  To  what  extent  is  it  wise  to  permit  liberty  of  action 

to  the  impulses  of  the  child's  mind  and  body  ? 

Page  41  to  67. 

9.  Is  it  wise  to  ignore  a  child's  slight  sufferings  in 

order  to  make  him  more  patient  and  courageous  ? 
10.  Should  the  end  of  education  be  found  in  future  or 

in  present  happiness  ? 
ir.  To  what  extent  should  parent  or  teacher  follow  the 

maxim,    "  Keep    the   child   dependent    on    things 

alone  "  ? 

12.  Are  the  formulas  of  politeness  in  any  sense  condu- 

cive to  false  education  ? 

13.  What  valuable  benefits  may  result  from  early  suffer- 

ing ?     Are  they  certain  to  result  ? 
357 


358  SYLLABUS   OF   ROUSSEAU'S   EMILE. 

14.  Are  children  at  the  age  of  ten  utterly  incapable  of 

reasoning  upon  questions  of  good  and  evil  ? 

15.  Does  the  practice  of  reasoning  with  children  upon 

their  conduct  generally  tend  to  make  them  deceit- 
ful and  untruthful  ? 

16.  In  what  respects  is  it  important  in  education  to  lose 

time  rather  than  to  gain  it  ? 

17.  Can  we  discover  the  bent  of  a  child's  mind  before 

beginning  to  instruct  him  ? 

18.  Can  punishments  be  limited   to   the   direct  conse- 

quences of  wrong-doing  ? 

Pages  67  to  100. 

19.  Would  it  be  wise  to  leave  a  child  untaught  from  a 

fear  that  he  might  be  taught  wrong  ? 

20.  May  it  be  right  sometimes  to  require  memory-work 

beyond   the   child's   full   grasp   of   the   ideas    in- 
volved ? 

21.  How  early  may  it  be  wise  to  instruct  a  child  in  a 

language  other  than  his  mother  tongue  ? 

22.  May  the  instruction  given  to  children  be  limited  to 

that  of  which  they  can  see  the  actual  and  present 
advantage  ? 

23.  Can  school  government  be  based  on  other  founda- 

tion than  the  authority  and  direct  command  of  the 
teacher  ? 

24.  Under    home    influences  alone,   would    Rousseau's 

scheme  of  government  prove  successful  ? 

25.  How  can  the  lessons  learned  upon  the  playground 

be  made  use  of  in  increasing  the  value  of  lessons 
learned  from  books  ? 

26.  What  general  principle  as  regards  clothing  might 

avoid  the  evils  from  which  Rousseau  warns  us,  as 


SYLLABUS   OF   ROUSSEAU'S   EMILE.  359 

well  as  those  to  which  his  directions  would  be 
likely  to  lead  us? 

27.  What  argument  for  manual  training,  as  a  branch  of 

school  work,  may  be  drawn  from  the  plea  for  the 
exercise  of  all  the  senses  ? 

Pages  100  to  130. 

28.  How  are  children  to  be  practically  trained  in  school 

so  as  to  "  arm  them  against  unforeseen  accidents  "  ? 

29.  Can  a  teacher  be  justified  in  adopting  a  willful  de- 

ception in  order  to  promote  in  a  child  that  acute- 
ness  of  perception  that  will  detect  the  deception  ? 

30.  What  relation  has  the  sense  of  sight  to  that  of  touch 

in  its  earliest  development  ? 

31.  What  is  the  especial  great  advantage   in  drawing 

from  objects  rather  than  from  copy? 

32.  What  is  the  argument  for  combining  drawing  from 

the  copy  with  object  drawing  ? 

33.  What    advantages   has   experimental    geometry,    as 

suggested  for  Emile,  over  the  geometry  as  com- 
monly presented  by  theorem  and  formal  demon- 
stration ? 

34.  When  should  the  latter  properly  come  in  to  supple- 

ment the  former  ? 

35.  To  what  extent  should  the  physical  exercises  of  the 

schoolroom  have  for  their  purpose  muscular  dex- 
terity and  agility  ? 

36.  For  what  chief  purpose  are  the  arts  of  recitation 

and  singing  to  be  included  in  the  training  of 
youth  ? 

37.  From  the  age  of  five  to  twelve  can  all  needed  in- 

struction be  acquired  through  experience  and  the 
senses  under  any  conditions  that  can  be  assumed  ? 


360  SYLLABUS   OF   ROUSSEAU'S   EMILE. 

Pages  i}i  to  1 60. 

38.  Is  the  normal  boy,  at  the  age  of  twelve  to  fifteen, 

possessed  of  physical  and  mental  strength  rela- 
tively greater  than  his  desires  ? 

39.  Is  Rousseau  right  in  ascribing  the  exception  to  such 

rule  to  faults  in  educational  training  ? 

40.  In  what  sense  is  it  true,  that  it  is  only  necessary  to 

know  that  which  is  useful  ? 

41.  What  are  the  necessary  objections  to  the  doctrine 

that  the  child  "  is  not  to  learn  science,  but  to  dis- 
cover it "  ? 

42.  Can  the  child  who  does  not  read  think  more  clearly 

than  the  child  who  reads  ? 

43.  How  may  Rousseau's  doctrine  concerning  the  sign 

and  the  thing  be  best  observed  in  modern  school 
work? 

44.  What  prevalent  error  violates  his  "  fundamental  prin- 

ciple "  concerning  the  teaching  of  sciences  ? 

45.  What  are  the  advantages  in  using  simple  and  "  home- 

made "  apparatus  rather  than  that  which  is  more 
elaborate  ? 

Pages  161  to  191. 

46.  Is  the  stimulus  of  emulation  necessarily  harmful  in 

dealing  with  children  from  twelve  to  fifteen  years 
of  age  ? 

47.  What  objection  is  there  to  making  the  state  of  Rob- 

inson Crusoe  the  ideal  state  with  reference  to 
which  the  elements  of  early  education  are  to  be 
chosen  ? 

48.  In  what  manner  may  the  instruction  of  children  be 

extended  from  the  material  relations  of  life  to  the 
social  and  spiritual  relations  ? 


SYLLABUS  OF  ROUSSEAU'S  EMILE.  361 

49.  What  is  the  most  forcible  argument  in  favor  of  teach- 

ing a  trade  to  the  young  man  whose  circumstances 
indicate  that  he  may  never  have  occasion  to  resort 
to  it  for  a  livelihood  ? 

50.  Should  manual  training  in  the  public  schools  have 

reference  to  artisan  skill  or  to  general  mental  de- 
velopment ? 

51.  Does  Rousseau's  scheme  give  to  the  boy  of  fifteen 

years  all  of  knowledge  and  of  culture  that  should 
be  acquired  at  that  age  ? 

Pages  192  to  224. 

52.  How  can  the  right  self-love  be  kept  distinct  in  the 

training  of  children  from  the  evil  self-love  ? 

53.  Can  love  of  self  be  used  as  a  basis  of  benevolence 

in  the  mind  of  a  child  ? 

54.  How  may  the  developing  boy  or  girl  be  best  guarded 

from  the  effects  of  evil  imagination  ? 

55.  Is  the  thought  that  any  given  suffering  may  come 

to  himself  necessary  to  the  awakening  of  pity  for 
a  sufferer  ? 

56.  Will   all   right    feelings   arise   spontaneously  in  the 

heart  of  the  child,  or  must  there  be  direct  effort 
to  call  them  forth  ? 

57.  Can  the  author's  distinction  between  man  as  indi- 

vidually good  and  man  in  society  as  evil  be  main- 
tained ? 

58.  Is  history  a  better  field  for  the  study  of  human  na- 

ture than  is  current  experience  ? 

59.  How  may  tables  be  most  successfully  made  use  of 

in  the  moral  instruction  of  youth  ? 


362  SYLLABUS   OF   ROUSSEAU'S   EMILE. 


Pages  224  to  258. 

60.  How  is  a  youth  best  taught  to  be  in  sympathy  with 

humanity  ? 

61.  Should  the  apparent  tendency  of  many  boys  to  little 

acts  of  cruelty  toward  the  lower  animals  be  dealt 
with  as  an  acquired  or  as  a  natural  trait  ? 

62.  Is  it  possible  to  acquire  all  the  good  lessons  of  ex- 

perience in  social  relations  without  any  of  the 
evil  ? 

63.  If  all  thought  of  God  and  of  religion  be  kept  from 

the  child  and  the  youth,  can  the  man  acquire  a 
truer  conception  of  divine  things? 

64.  Is  the  young  man  who  has  been  restrained  through 

ignorance  more  likely  to  be  controlled  by  intelli- 
gence when  the  ignorance  can  be  no  longer  main- 
tained ? 

65.  Can  the  "  child  of  twelve  years  who  knows  nothing  " 

be  well  instructed  at  the  age  of  fifteen  ? 

66.  Is  the  young  man  at  twenty  likely  to  become  more 

"  amiable  and  polished  "  in  society  because  of  not 
having  any  early  contact  with  social  requirements 
and  customs  ? 

67.  How  much  of  Rousseau's  scheme  of  education  and 

training  commends  itself  as  practicable? 

68.  What  would  be  the  marked  weaknesses  or  faults  in 

a  youth  trained  as  this  work  suggests  ? 

Pages  259  to  308. 

69.  Is  it  in  any  sense  true  that  while  the  perfect  man 

should  be  active  and  strong,  the  perfect  woman 
should  be  passive  and  weak  ? 


SYLLABUS  OF   ROUSSEAU'S   EMILE.  363 

70.  Within  the  limits  of  school   life  is  there  any  right 

education  for  the  young  man  that  is  not  right  edu- 
cation also  for  the  young  woman  ? 

71.  Do  the  boy's  love  of  noisy  toys  and  the  girl's  love 

of  dolls  and  ornament  mark  a  natural  or  an  ac- 
quired difference  in  their  tendencies  ? 

72.  Is  restraint,  leading  up  to  self-control,  more  impor- 

tant in  the  training  of  a  girl  than  in  the  training 
of  a  boy  ? 

73.  Do  women  differ  from  men  in  the  scope  and  power 

of  the  reasoning  faculty  ? 

74.  Is   marriage  an  end    in  life  to  be  more  definitely 

sought  and  prepared  for  by  the  young  woman  than 
by  the  young  man  ? 

75.  What  is  your  final  judgment  of  Rousseau's  scheme 

for  the  education  of  Emile  ? 


(22) 


THE    END. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


A!,  UNIVERP1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  690  525     1 


